


Sherlock: The Hardest Lesson

by Kitty364



Series: Sherlock Holmes and Sally: love conquers all [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock - Fandom, Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: 221B Baker Street, 221C, 221C Baker Street, 221b, Baker Street, F/M, Falling In Love, Love, Murder, Murder Mystery, Pregnancy, Relationship(s), School, Sexual Content, teacher
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-11
Updated: 2017-02-18
Packaged: 2018-08-30 10:06:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 50
Words: 53,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8528929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kitty364/pseuds/Kitty364
Summary: Escaping a tragedy in Manchester that made her re-evaluate her life, Sally Tavistock is a teacher looking for a new start. After securing a great deal on a flat in the heart of London and gaining a new position within a Multi-Academy Trust school, Sally feels this could be the fresh start that she is looking for. Unfortunately, the flat (and the only one in her price range) is also in the same building as the infamous Sherlock Holmes. Despite never having met him, his well reported self-centred behaviour and arrogance leaves Sally reasoning that she'd never be able to get along with him, no matter how good-looking he might be and can only hope she'll be able to avoid the self appointed consulting detective. However, living in such close proximity meant that this was never going to happen. Sally is suddenly swept up into a world of intrigue, murder and lust.





	1. A Fresh Start

**Author's Note:**

> This is a completed story although there are edits and re-drafts going on. Whilst it is 50 chapters long, don't let this put you off - some chapters are short for effect. I wanted a long story that could hopefully becoming absorbing.
> 
> I hope you enjoy reading my first fan fiction - I would love it if you can leave a comment. Advice and guidance would be great - it is always brilliant learning from others - all I ask is that you are kind with your words! I have read some great stories on here and I know this isn't up to the high standards of others that I have read but I decided to write as a way of escaping current stresses in my life and therefore I know it isn't perfect. 
> 
> Equally, if you enjoyed this story, it would be great if you could bookmark it or point others in the direction of this story.
> 
> Everything I write is not for profit, not for resale, not for use elsewhere and only for my own enjoyment as well as those likeminded individuals who enjoy a Sherlock tale. I acknowledge the fact that I did not create, do not own and therefore do not take credit for any of the characters that are from the Sherlock Holmes novels or TV series: Sherlock, John Watson, Mary Watson and Mrs Hudson or reference to Moriarty. Receiving Kudos is incredibly gratifying, so please feel free to click that little button if you feel it deserves it.
> 
> The story is a long one, with lots of build up to the ending, I became engrossed and found it difficult to say goodbye! Hopefully it'll be a good journey!

Folding the crumpled letting advert back up and sliding it into her coat pocket, Sally sat down in the back of the black cab. The advert had been ripped from the corner of an old newspaper and had been well worn, partly due to indecisiveness and partly due to an inability to believe that the rent for an inner-city flat could be so reasonable.

Sally peered through the taxi window, wiping a small peephole into the condensation that had begun to form on the glass with the palm of her left hand. The weather outside was gloomy to say the least; heavy drizzle and a coldness that she had thought she was escaping when she said goodbye to Manchester. It certainly wasn’t the weather she was expecting at the end of August but it matched her mood.

Whilst Sally could have made the journey by tube, the idea of having to traipse down to Euston Square station seemed like too much effort, despite only having a small suitcase. Equally, so did the bus which - according to TripAdvisor - seemed to be the most efficient method. There would be plenty of time to get acquainted with the bus network but today wasn’t a good day on which to start.

The taxi moved slowly along the busy London streets, although Sally was not bothered at watching the sights and instead watched the meter slowly rise. Both the congestion and the exorbitant prices were something that Sally accepted would become her reality. Whilst living in London would be expensive, it was just the city that could save her and she had been fortunate enough to find a place to stay that would not break the bank.

“You ‘ere for long?” enquired the cab driver, turning and smiling at Sally. After a two-and-a-half hour train journey, she wasn’t in the mood for small talk. Additionally, although the old man behind the wheel looked friendly enough, he reminded Sally of her grandfather who had passed some 10 years previously; even down to the sweater vest and flat cap. Sally had run to London to escape her ghosts.

“Hmm,” she replied, continuing to gaze aimlessly out of the window, hoping he’d take the hint with her non-committal response and not continue to make small talk.

“Off to see ‘im? He lives in Baker Street you know. That one ‘oos been on the telly. ‘omes,” continued the cabbie, oblivious to Sally’s indifference.

“Certainly not,” she snapped back. Rummaging in her handbag, Sally picked out the headphones she’d been using 20 minutes’ prior. She plugged them into the jack, thumbed through the playlist and picked her current favourite – Vienna by Ultravox. Born in the late 1980’s, Sally was technically too young to be a true 80’s child but her elder brother Simon was a music fanatic and his influences had rubbed off on her. The music managed to silence the cabbie and the journey continued without further pleasantries.

Sally was acutely aware of the notable resident of Baker Street; she had read all about him in the newspapers. Intriguing though the case of Richard Brook, or James Moriarty, was - Sally could not help but be confused about the reasons behind the ‘consulting detective’s’ decision to a) not only kill himself but b) not actually be dead at all. Suicide was a prickly subject for Sally. A tear began to swell in her left eye, of which Sally only became aware of when the tear that had formed in the right eye had begun to make its way down her cheek. She wiped it away furiously, equally cross at the fact that this was the day of her ‘fresh start’ and that she’d been caught unaware: the tears had come so easily.

It had been five months. 159 days to be precise. 159 days since her beloved big brother Simon had died, although it may just as well have been yesterday. She hadn’t seen it coming, no-one had. They said as much at his funeral; he was such a happy man, always smiling. No one had seen the cancerous self-hatred that had begun to eat away at him since leaving the army; no-one knew the self-doubt or worthlessness he cast upon himself. Then one bleak day in March, not too dissimilar to the one outside the taxi window, everyone saw. The empty pill bottle screamed that fact to everyone. 

It had been a cry for help they said. He hadn’t really meant to do it; it went too far, they said. Words that had no effect in consoling Sally one jot. Whether he had meant to or not, he had feelings that had driven him to take drastic measures. Feelings that Sally had not seen or that Simon had felt he couldn’t share with her. Why didn’t he tell her? Sally’s right fist slammed down hard on the black vinyl seat next to her - it had been clenched so tightly that there was now a row of small crescent moon shapes carved into her palm where her finger nails had dug in deeply. Her fist remained on the seat, her arm wobbling. She became aware of a sharp metallic tang in her mouth and realised she’d bit her lip again. It had worked though; the tears had stopped. This was a technique she’d taught herself early on - sharp pain could stop her from crying almost as quickly as she could start, but she found herself needing to gradually increase the pressure for it to be effective. Her lip was already slightly swollen from the lip biting that had happened whilst packing and she had been firm with herself that it needed to stop – she couldn’t start her new job looking like she’d been in a boxing ring. Sally cursed out loud, forgetting she was in company, which made the cabbie jerk his head back and ask her if she was alright. Even though the music drowned out his words, she could read his lips well enough to know what he was asking and she nodded.

The cabbie flicked the indicator and the taxi turned left into Baker Street.

“£9.20, love,” said the taxi driver, pulling up outside ‘Speedy’s sandwich bar and café’ and Sally was suddenly brought back to reality. She fumbled inside her handbag, searching for her purse. She finally located it, stared inside and saw a solitary £10 note inside. She passed it to him and made to open the door.

“Good luck.” The driver winked at her and smiled, holding out her change.

“Thanks. Don’t worry about the change,” Sally replied, suddenly feeling guilty about her rudeness and lack of proper tip. However, she was now living in London and she needed to be sensible about her money – she was her brother’s sole beneficiary but his money wouldn’t last long. She stepped out of the cab, dragging her small suitcase behind her.

The taxi cab pulled away and Sally stood on the curb side, looking at the building ahead of her. She took a sharp intake of breath and took a step towards her fresh start.


	2. 221c

Reaching up to the brass knocker that rested on the door of 221b Baker Street, Sally paused. She was puzzled. If this was the door to 221b, then where was 221c? She took a step back and scanned the houses nearby. The house to the left, 219, seemed to have steps leading down to a basement flat but, despite there being a window hidden behind fencing below street level, there was no sign of how to access the flat that lay behind it. Stepping back, Sally raised her hand to knock, only to fall slightly forward as the door was opened simultaneously.

“Move!” boomed the voice of a tall, Belstaff coat as it pushed past her and hailed “Taxi!” Sally, out of shock rather than the force of the shove, almost fell over her feet and caught her right leg on the case, snagging her tights. She didn’t need to be the great Sherlock Holmes himself to deduce that the owner of voice and said overcoat was none other than Mr. Arrogant himself.

“Sorry, sorry!” apologised a shadow that followed behind, who Sally recognised from the newspapers as John Watson. He had a look of exasperation on his face that told her it wasn’t the first time he’d had to apologise for Sherlock Holmes and it probably wouldn’t be the last time either. Sally couldn’t help but turn her head towards the direction of the two men and watch as they disappeared into a taxi, which did a dramatic U-turn and sped off in the direction it had appeared from. Sally was just about to utter an expletive when she was stopped in her tracks.

“Oh, hello dear! You must be Miss. Tavistock.”

Sally’s attention immediately refocused and she turned to see a petite aging woman, dressed smartly, albeit with apron, standing in front of her. Sally couldn’t help but smile at the motherly figure stood before her. She recognised the familiar warmth in her voice as the person she had conversed with over several telephone conversations; Mrs. Hudson, the Landlady.

“Oh hello! Mrs. Hudson? Yes, but please, it’s Sally – Miss. Tavistock reminds me of being at work. It’s so nice to meet you at last! Thank you!” replied Sally, extending her arm towards Mrs. Hudson to shake but who instead warmly, clasped her hand in her own.

“Ooh, dearie, your hands are cold. I can’t believe this is supposed to be the summer, but then I said back in April – the weather is too nice now so we’ll have a cold one. Mind you, it is always so cold round this way; the wind just whips down the streets. Come on inside, let’s have a cup of tea in my place. I’ve got some iced buns. I see you’ve met the boys,” said Mrs. Hudson, putting her hand around Sally’s shoulder and directing her back towards the door, before moving in front and disappearing back inside the warmth of 221b.

“I wouldn’t say, ‘met’ exactly,” Sally retorted, following on behind and trying to bear in mind that her growing distaste for Holmes should have no bearing on how she spoke to Mrs. Hudson. Even Sally felt it ridiculous to dislike someone that she had never met as much as she did Sherlock Holmes - although nearly knocking her to the ground did nothing to dispel her preconceptions. Sally shut the door to 221b behind her, Mrs. Hudson was just disappearing through a door at the far end of the lobby. Sally continued after her, walking through the narrow corridor, unsure as to whether she should follow or not.

“Yes. He is a one that Sherlock. He does take a little bit of getting used to, but he has a good heart deep down. Just don’t take anything personally. Come in my dear and I’ll make you a cup of tea.” said Mrs. Hudson as she busied herself about the kitchen. Sally raised her eyebrows and took a sharp intake of breath. She looked around the room and couldn’t quite fathom the set up. She’d walked past the door of her own residence, just down the hallway and to the left, by the staircase. The door to 221a, where Mrs. Hudson lived, was at right angles to it and 221b must therefore, be on the floor above. Whilst Sally was grateful that there would be more distance between her and her infamous neighbour than she had initially thought, the look of wonder at the disorder must’ve been etched obviously on her face.

“I am sorry about the mess, dear,” said Mrs. Hudson, placing a cup of tea and iced bun in front of her. “Don’t get used to the tea, I am a landlady, not a housekeeper.”

“Oh no! I wasn’t thinking it was a mess Mrs. Hudson. I can assure you my place won’t be as well-kept as this! I was just wondering about the logistics of it all. 221b?”

“Perhaps you shouldn’t be admitting that to your landlady my dear, but then you probably will be far tidier than Sherlock. The mess he has made of my walls. It has got worse since John moved out you know. 221b is up the stairs. He has all sorts coming in and out, day and night. He never locks his door – takes the front door as his own. I go in every now and then and give it a little clean, though I’m not his house keeper you know!”

“Hmm,” replied Sally, for the second time that day. She made a mental note to be sure to lock her own door as she didn’t want these ‘all sorts’ wandering into her flat. Perhaps she’d change the locks too - nice though she was, she didn’t want Mrs. Hudson wandering into her flat whenever she felt like it even if it was to ‘give it a little clean’. 

A second iced bun and another cup of tea later, Sally made to get up.

“Here are your keys dear. I’ll give you a hand. I’ll take the padlock off the door, you won’t need it on, it was just there as extra you know, whilst it was empty. I’ve not had much interest in the place, despite it being where it is. I think it is the damp; it is the curse of basements you know. That’s why the price is so good.”

Sally wondered if Mrs. Hudson was capable of being brief when talking, everything seemed to be a round-the-houses story. Nevertheless, Sally couldn’t help but be charmed with the quaint diminutive lady who was, at this point, stuffing the unlocked padlock into her pinny pocket and passing the yale key towards her. Sally fumbled with the key in the lock and finally the door creaked open. Immediately the stench of damp filtered into her nostrils and made her flinch. It would take more than a bottle of Febreeze and Shake ‘n’ Vac to fix this one.

“I have been given a small inheritance, Mrs. Hudson. Would you mind if I did a little decorating? Put my own stamp on it?” asked Sally, turning to face Mrs. Hudson.

“Of course not dearie, just no shocking colours, but you don’t strike me as a Barbie pink kind of a girl. Although, of course, Sherlock would if you are a Barbie pink kind of girl for sure. He’ll tell us all over dinner tonight.”

“Pardon? Dinner?”

“Yes. Dinner tonight at 7.30. My kitchen. I think it is so important to know the people you are living with, makes everything so much nicer. Not that I’ll cook for you every night though. I think even John can come. See you then!” and with that, Mrs. Hudson turned on her heels, went inside her own flat and shut the door. Sally was sure this was because Mrs. Hudson had already suspected an excuse was coming from her although, by this point, Sally was already under Mrs. Hudson’s motherly spell and despite feelings of grievance at her imposed dinner plans, she would not have dreamt of disobeying. 

She glanced at her watch, it was 4.30pm, so much for the delivery driver arriving between 2 and 3pm with her furniture Sally mused. She walked down the short light of steps to the basement apartment, opening another door – albeit without a lock – at the bottom; it was not as gloomy as she had originally thought - the basement did have natural light after all, with the rooms extending beyond the rear of the property, which is why there was no evidence of it from the road. The door at the bottom of the stairs opened into a living / dining room and to the far end there was a small kitchen area. A door to the left of the stairs led to the bedroom and from there, there was a bathroom. The rooms were small but could meet the desired requirements. Just then, she felt a vibration in her pocket and the tune of her phone rang out.

“221c? I have your furniture. Where do you want it, love?”

40 minutes and a cup of tea, curtesy of Mrs. Hudson, later - the delivery men left; hot and sticky after the trips backwards and forwards with the furniture. A fresh start required new furniture, Sally had reasoned when she placed the order a fortnight ago. It now looked a distinctly bad idea when, in reality, the only useful piece of furniture she had was the sofa. Everything else was flat packed. With head in her hands, Sally collapsed onto the brown two-seater sofa. The piles of boxes could wait, Sally was well versed in the art of procrastination – it happened every Saturday when she should be planning the week’s lessons, or when it came to report writing time. With feet up, Sally took out her phone, frowned in distaste, dismissed the three missed calls and opened Pinterest.

Rapid thumping on the flat door jolted Sally’s head forward. The flat was now much gloomier, thanks to the declining weather and a small wet spot had appeared on her right shoulder, drool pooling at the side of her mouth and beginning to trickle down her chin. She must’ve nodded off.

Squinting at her watch, she could just about make out the time – 7.45pm. She was late.


	3. Dinner With The Neighbours

Sally quickly got off the sofa and rubbed her eyes. It had been a while since she’d had, what she called, a granny nap and was embarrassed by her poor show of punctuality; it was not the best first impression that she could’ve given. She rushed up the stairs leading from the living room to the front door of 221c.

“I am so sorry Mrs. Hudson!” said Sally, opening her door but not looking up; she was urgently trying to flatten down her clothes and smooth out her hair. She did not dare waste any time in freshening up and did not notice that it was not Mrs. Hudson waiting to greet her.

“Don’t worry, she’s still waiting on the potatoes, but she was getting a little worried about you. I’m John, we passed each other earlier,” said John, who was waiting just outside the door. He smiled at Sally, he felt a sense of familiarity in her. He extended his hand and Sally greeted him with a firm handshake.

“Sorry! I thought you were Mrs. Hudson. Thanks. Sorry! I fell asleep, it must be the stress over moving and the travelling earlier. I feel so old!” mumbled Sally, shutting and locking the door to 221c behind her. She walked past John, who was now stretching his arm out to pop open the door of 221a, which led directly into Mrs. Hudson’s kitchen. The room was small and, although it contained the bare minimum, it still appeared quite crowded. It reminded Sally of her Nan’s kitchen back in Manchester, they would all go over on a Sunday for lunch. Sally bit quickly on her lip at the memory of her and her brother playing happily at the kitchen table as her nan busied about the kitchen.

Mrs. Hudson’s kitchen was organised in very much the same way as her nan’s and Sally guessed that it probably wasn’t anymore modern. There was a sink and small work surface, underneath a window. Against the other wall, there was a small table with four chairs tucked under it. At the far end of the kitchen there was a blue two seater sofa on which sat Sherlock Holmes, who was reading a newspaper.

“You might feel old, but you aren’t as old as you look. 26 I’d say, judging by your clothing. You snore when you sleep and it wakes you in the night, hence the additional years on your face. Your mouth hangs open as evidenced by the patch of saliva on your shoulder. Losing weight will help with the snoring you know. Snoring isn’t the only thing that is keeping you awake though. You are a teacher, which is screamingly obvious to us all and you worry too much about your work. You have recently come out of a relationship and it was very painful; not a serious one though as you’ve never worn a wedding band nor engagement ring. That keeps you awake too. You’ve travelled far to avoid him; Manchester I’d say judging by the accent but you aren’t convinced you’ll stay judging by the size of the suitcase I saw earlier. Money is also an issue since you clearly reuse your hosiery – the right leg has a ladder. How did I do?” Said Sherlock, flicking the newspapers closed and looking towards Sally, who was glaring at him.

“Dickhead,” retorted Sally, without a moment’s hesitation. John chortled but Mrs. Hudson scowled.

“Now dear, we don’t have language like that. Sherlock – be nice. You know how important a good first impression is,” Mrs. Hudson had a motherly authoritarian tone to her voice to which both Sally and Sherlock responded to with a child-like apology, although to her rather than each other.

Sally walked further into the room but went short of joining Sherlock on the sofa. She did not want to be in the same room, let alone in such close quarters on the sofa. Mrs. Hudson busied herself about the kitchen; a bowl of steaming new potatoes were placed on the table, which joined the green leafed salad that was already there. “Ready!” She shrilled, wih a smile upon her face. Sherlock jumped to his feet and moved to the table, scrapping back a wooden chair before sitting down enthusiastically, like an eager 8-year-old. Sally found herself sat opposite him.

“Tuck in!” said Mrs. Hudson, joining the trio at the table. The small Formica kitchen table, covered with a blue gingham table cloth, now contained a plethora of delights that would not have been out of place in a Famous Five picnic. Sally tucked in hungrily, adding seconds to her plate on the advice of Mrs. Hudson. Other than the iced-buns, she’d not eaten since the sandwich on the train, if you could call that food. She glanced up and noticed that Sherlock was watching her closely, one eyebrow raised.

“What? I’ve not eaten all day. And I’m not fat!” she started.

“You had a sandwich on the train and iced-buns with Mrs. Hudson. I didn’t call you fat, I said that if you lost weight you’d stop snoring.”

“How did y…and that is calling me fat. And I’m not broke either – these tights were perfectly fine until you...”

“So, you are a teacher then? Sherlock said…” interrupted John. Sally could tell he was well versed in subject changing.

“Er, yes. This will be my 8th year. I’m 28.” Sally cast her eyes towards Sherlock when she announced her age and smirked, he didn’t know it all it seemed. He felt the triumph in her dismissal of his facts and he cursed himself for misjudging her age. He regretted not saying his original deduction; she was trying to hold onto her youth through the way she dressed, dressing younger than she really was. In hindsight, it probably was for the best that he did not say that, he reasoned, as she probably would’ve taken offense at that too. “I’ve actually just got a new job at Park Hills Primary, it isn’t too far from here,” she continued.

“Oh really, what age do you teach? I’ve just had a daughter, not that she is old enough for school just yet - she’s 10 months,” replied John, seeming genuinely interested. 

“Aw, how lovely! I teach 10 and 11 year olds, Year 6, for my sins! Swore I’d never do it again, too much stress what with it being their final year and the SAT’s and all, but here I am again!” At this point, Sherlock let out a long sigh of contempt and couldn’t help but roll his eyes. Stress? He felt that baby-sitting a group of 10-year-olds could hardly be deemed to be stressful. Sally could take no more of Sherlock’s arrogance.

“Thank you, Mrs. Hudson, that was delish!” she said, placing her napkin over her almost empty plate. “I have a bed to make, quite literally! I don’t suppose you have screwdriver, do you?” she continued, rising to her feet and tucking her chair back under the table.

“Oh, I should think so dearie, let me have a look,” said Mrs. Hudson rising to her feet herself and moving towards the cupboard under the sink.

“Would you like a hand? Mary will be mid-settling Charlotte, she’s our little night owl. If I go home now I’ll disturb her. I’m quite handy when it comes to putting furniture together,” asked John. Sally couldn’t help but like him, he had such warmth and caring about him and it made her wonder how he could bear to be around someone like Sherlock.

“That would be great, thanks! Mrs. Hudson, dinner was lovely, so very kind of you. I’m sure Sherlock will help with the pots,” remarked Sally, feigning a smile towards Sherlock and picking up the screw driver that had appeared in front of her. With that, she disappeared out of the door, followed by John.


	4. Ikea

“Sherlock isn’t that bad when you get used to him,” said John, shutting the door to the apartment as he followed Sally down the stairs.

“He’s a prick,” replied Sally. “He called me fat, said I looked old and I’m pretty sure he was slagging off my clothes.”

“You certainly say it how it is, don’t you?” smiled John, with a certain degree of awkwardness. “Not too dissimilar to Sherlock really.”

“Yeah – brother in the army. You know how it is,” replied Sally, biting her lip, already regretting mentioning him. “Plus, having to be on my best behaviour at school, I tend to make up for it in the holidays. I think my language is pretty moderate, especially considering who I was talking to,” she continued, trying to change the subject.

“Really? What reg?” asked John who, by this time, had moved towards the pile of boxes that consisted of bed parts and picked up a box. “The bedroom through there?” said John, gesticulating with his head towards the door to the side of the living room.

“Yes. Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers,” she responded. “So, you have a new baby?” said Sally, desperately trying to change the subject but the look of intrigue on Watson’s face told her that this would not be the end of the matter. 

“Really. I might know him, that was my regiment! What was his name?” 

“Simon Tavistock, came out in 2012.”

“Yes! I know Simon he…” and then John’s voice trailed off. His face contorted into horror and then pity as he remembered he knew what had happened to him. “…I…Err…He was a great bloke. The funeral...I couldn’t…”

“It’s OK, I’d’ve preferred not to have gone myself either. I don’t like to talk about it to be honest, it’s too painful. And he doesn’t need to know either,” said Sally, pointing upstairs before taking another box from the bed pile and striding purposefully past John. “He was wrong you know. I mean, there is an ex, but he isn’t the reason I left Manchester. Simon was everywhere – I had to get away.” Sally tore at the tape on the end of the box and fished for the instructions.

“You left your phone upstairs John. It’s Mary – something about sudocrem?” said a voice at the doorway to the bedroom, which made both John and Sally jump and turn in shock.

“Christ sake Sherlock!” said John jumping. He stepping over packaging and took the phone. He walked into the living room. Sherlock moved forwards, into the bedroom and picked up some paper from the floor.

“How the hell did you get in? Did Mrs. Hudson let you in?!” Sally spat, frowning. She snatched the instructions out of Sherlock’s hands. 

“Certainly not. I used my key.”

“What? Your key? You have a key to my flat? Hand it over!” Sally held out her right hand, palm upwards and waggled her fingers. Sherlock sighed and rolled his eyes. He moved his hand slowly into the inside breast pocket of his coat, fished out the small silver key and placed it into her palm. Sally closed her fingers around the key and put it into her pocket.

“What?” asked Sherlock.

“What? Nothing.” Sally replied.

“You gave a look.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“You felt the key and you looked.” 

“It’s warm. You’ve had it in your hand.”

“And…”

“And what? It’s warm because you didn’t know if you should come in or not, so you held it while you debated the matter,” said Sally, turning her back on Sherlock and opening another box.

“Well done, there could be potential…” began Sherlock.

“Piss off. It was hardly a huge leap. You really aren’t as smart as you’d like me to believe, if you were, you would’ve trotted on.”

“…or maybe not.”

“Listen, Sally – I’m so sorry…” John reappeared in the doorway of Sally’s bedroom, holding onto his phone. “Charlotte has nappy rash, and we are out of cream. I’ve got to stop off on the way home. I feel awful leaving you after saying I’d help but Mary is at the end of her tether, apparently, Charlotte has been fussing all evening… er, Sherlock?” he continued, widening his eyes and nodding towards the pile of boxes.

“It’s fine, I can manage,” Sally answered, following John’s train of thought. “I’m quite handy with a screw driver. She walked towards John and have his a small hug and a peck on the cheek. “It was great meeting you, thanks for your help.” She followed him out of the living room and up the stairs, seeing him out the door. 

Sighing, she came back down and began to walk into the bedroom. “You can go…” she began, but was perplexed to see that Sherlock had already joined the headboard to one of the two supporting side bars and was onto the other. She was impressed, he certainly didn’t seem the DIY type.

“Coffee. Black, two sugars. Go upstairs to 221b, seeing as you’ve not unpacked the kettle yet,” said Sherlock, without glancing up. Sally was torn. She desperately wanted nothing to do with this man but she also desperately wanted to go to bed. Whilst she was more than capable of doing the bed, at the rate Sherlock was going, she’d be able to go this side of midnight. 

Sally walked out of the bedroom and out of 221c. She walked out into the lobby and up the stairs towards 221b. Just as Mrs. Hudson had said, the door was unlocked. Not just unlocked, but left wide open. Sally walked tentatively inside, peering her head around the corner. It wasn’t the mess that she had been expecting, although she saw what she meant about the wall. She walked up and inspected the wall above a 3-seater sofa. She moved her finger into one of the many holes that littered the wall. Were they bullet holes? The wallpaper was nice though she noted, aside from the graffiti. She’d have to ask Sherlock where the paper was from, it was exactly what she was looking for in her bedroom.

“No!” she said out loud. No, no, no. Not happening. Along with the lip biting, that was another thing she had promised herself when she left Manchester – she would not form any kind of acquaintance with Sherlock. She had obviously realised that there was a good chance that she would end up bumping into him; after all the press coverage, it wasn’t a great secret as to where he lived. In fact, she had almost not gone through with the tenancy because of it, but she could not justify turning down the flat at the rate she was getting it – it was the only way she was managing to afford the move, along with the increased wage that working in inner city London brought. 

Sally did have to concede that he did have a rakish look about him, especially without the hat; that really didn’t do him any favours. He had fabulous hair and his eyes were spectacular, but no. Anyone who could fake a suicide wasn’t someone she’d like to know, no matter what the reasons he’d probably claim – she couldn’t think of any reason that could justify such an act. Her thought trail was suddenly distracted with a glance towards the mantel piece at the opposite end of the room. It was strewn with various objects including, most notably, a skull. “You know, I don’t even want to know,” Sally mused. At the other end lay a few documents, impaled to the mantle with an ornate knife which looked like a cross between a paper opener and a pen knife. Sally raised an eyebrow to and made her way into the kitchen, which lay to the left. The kitchen was a different story entirely; every inch of work surface was covered with, what looked like, a science experiment that had gone wrong; a Bunsen burner was set up on the central island, test tubes lay strewn across the table and she daren’t begin to think about what had originally been inside the petri dishes by the sink. 

Sally decided that she did not want to linger and longer than she needed to. She quickly found the kettle and saw the drink supplies were all readily to hand and set about making the coffee, feeling relieved that she would not have to venture inside the fridge for some milk.

Returning to her basement flat, she was pleased to see that the bed was practically finished and Sherlock was unpacking the box containing the bed slats.

“Put the coffee down there. The bed won’t last you know – it’ll break before the end of your tenancy. The quality of the slats isn’t not good.” Said Sherlock, holding one of the slats to the light and inspecting it. He glanced quickly towards her. “I haven’t just called you fat, have I?” he asked, with an air of sarcasm.

“Probably. But I am too tired to argue with you and you wouldn’t care anyhow.” Sally responded.

“Go wait in the other room, I can manage alone,” he said. Sherlock, by now, had turned back to the task in hand and Sally was more than happy to oblige his request. She was not in the mood to make small talk, not that she thought he was either.

The noise of the bin lorry moving down Baker Street was the first thing that Sally was aware of. She rubbed the sleep from her eyes and sat up. She picked up her phone and glanced at the time, 7.05am. An unfamiliar green blanket fell to the ground; Sally picked it up and held it to her face, there was a faint whiff of cigarettes about it . Sally reasoned that it must be Sherlock's. Sherlock! Sally leapt up and walked towards the bedroom. There, complete and perfectly made with the new bedding she had taken delivery of the day before, was her bed She walked towards it and inspected it closer. The bedding had even been ironed! Not only had the bed been made, but a wardrobe, chest of drawers and a bedside cabinet too. Not sure what to think, Sally looked around the room. She noticed her case was placed at the bottom of the bed. She picked it up and placed it on the bed; it was light. She went to open it and was astonished to find it had been unlocked and it was empty! She went to the wardrobe and found the clothes that had previously been in the case, though sparse as they were in number, hung meticulously in her wardrobe; those too had been ironed! Her cheeks suddenly flushed pink and she rushed to the chest of drawers. Flustered, she quickly pulled each one open. Sally moved her hands over her face. There, neatly folded were her knickers and bras - which too looked liked they had been ironed. Sally flushed pink; this may not have been a problem had she packed her pretty lingerie. However, after Nick, she had sworn off lacy garments and had succumbed to the comfort of Marks and Spencer’s. She let out a silent prayer that it was Mrs. Hudson that had given it ‘a little clean’ and had organised her belongings, though she strongly suspected that this was the work of Holmes.

Sally padded out of the bedroom and noticed, for the first time, a note pinned to the door of the bedroom which simply read: ‘Stop biting your lip, it won’t make it better. SH’


	5. Blankets and SmartBoards

‘Total Eclipse of the heart’ by Bonnie Tyler rang out from Sally’s iPod. This was the perfect shower song; a power ballad to belt out over the top of the noise of the water and just long enough to have a good wash, not too long to cause her to dwell. She wasn’t a shower person.

‘I should probably return the blanket,’ Sally thought, as she got out of the shower. She dried herself quickly. Considering it was August, albeit close to the end of August, it was decidedly chilly in the basement flat and a shower than ran cold more than hot didn’t help. Sally added ‘call plumber’ to her list of things to do and pondered whether really, these things should be being done by Mrs. Hudson. Considering the affordability of the flat, Sally decided that she didn’t want to do anything that may cause it to rise, a little outlay now would be more beneficial in the long run.

Drawing out a fresh set of underwear from her newly constructed chest of drawers, Sally felt a blush of embarrassment creep across her again and reasoned that she would probably prefer not to see Sherlock any time soon for fear of the deductions he’d make about her pants - though she did surmise that it was probably the closest he’d got to having women’s knickers in his hands for a long while. Probably even the first time that he’d had his hands on a pair! ‘I’ll wait ‘til he heads out, then pop it upstairs,’ she thought, before buttoning up her jeans; she had other things to be doing. She needed to pop into school to meet with her new Head Teacher for one and then look at the long-term plan for her year group, and of course there were the displays to set up too. So much for teachers having holidays. 

Looking in the mirror, she also decided that she’d need to do a bit of shopping. Sherlock was right that she had bought precious little with her and definitely needed to pad out her wardrobe. Turning to the side, Sally caught herself looking at her stomach in the mirror on the inside of the wardrobe door. “That bloody man,” she said. 

Sally picked up her house keys and handbag and jogged up the steps leading out of the flat. She locked the door behind her, walked across the lobby and out into the sunlight of Baker Street. She took a quick glance at the map app open on her phone and headed off in the direction of the bus stop. She was not looking forward to having to make the journey across London every morning, particularly when the days would start to get shorter. The school itself wasn’t too far from Baker Street, but it wasn’t on a direct route and so the journey lasted much longer than it should. All the same, this meant that Sally had time to unwind after work and chill out, listening to music on her phone. Sally arrived at her school just over an hour after starting off.

“Hello… it’s Sally. Sally Tavistock – Year 6 Teacher,” Sally spoke into the intercom at the car park barrier. A mix of crackling and voice spoke through and, although it was unclear of what was being said, the barrier raised. She walked through and scanned the car park for the entrance. Across the way, a door opened and a bloke dressed in overalls came out, wiping his hands down the side of his trousers. A wooden handle popping out the side pocket, this was probably the caretaker.

“Hi! I’m Sally,” she said, walking towards him, reaching forward and shaking his hand. “I tried the pedestrian entrance but it was locked...”

“Yes, I tend to padlock it in the holidays. All the gates and doors have magnetic locks on, you’ll need a fob. Come with me, Treacle – I’ll get you sorted. I’m Dave Ormston, by the way. Site Manager.”

Sally followed Dave through the lobby , decorated with children’s work and where the school motto was displayed proudly. ‘Park Hills – leading the way for the future’. She followed him into the office where he handed her a pack.

“Everything that you need is in there,” he said. “Pete isn’t in at the minute – he’s had to pop over to Trust Towers, He asked for you to sign the stuff in there, read the staff handbook and said he’d be here at 12 with some lunch to make up for it,” he continued.

“Trust Towers?” inquired Sally.

“Oh yes - er - that’s the nickname we give it. Norwood Academy Trust have quite a large core team. They are all based near Canary Wharf. Plush offices there, whilst I have to make a decision on replacing the emergency lighting or updating the fire doors. Madness. Do you want me to take you down to your room?”

Sally followed Dave out of the office and down a long corridor. The building was definitely Victorian and in need of a lick of paint, but certainly not as bad as some of the places she’d worked in. Eventually, after Dave had pointed out the important parts of the building – toilets, reprographics and the staffroom – Sally was taken into her room. Reasonably sized and well equipped with an immersive wall and sound system, Sally was impressed. The vast wall of windows at the far end allowed plenty of light into the room and there was plenty of display space she could use. 

“Give us a shout if you need anything Treacle. Leave those boards and I’ll back ‘em for you later,” said Dave, before he walked out of the room and continued with his jobs. Sally sat her handbag down on the desk at the front of the room and fished her phone from her pocket just as it decided to beep. Sally looked at the screen – ‘Bored. SH’

“What? How did he get my number? He’s even put his bloody name...” Sally retorted, out loud, noting that it had even come up with his name in the contacts list. “So much for a passcode...”

“Sorry, am I interrupting?” asked a voice in the doorway and Sally spun around.

“Sorry! New neighbour taking liberties, I’m Sally,” replied Sally, holding up her phone before sliding it back into her jeans pocket and hoping that this was not the Head Teacher, Pete.

“I see. I’m Pete,” and he extended his hand. "Meeting finished much sooner than I was expecting." 

Sally cringed and could feel herself going red.

"It’s good to meet you at last! The Executive Head was impressed with your interview. It’s quite nice that I’m not the only new starter this September – there are four newbies in total. Anyhow – I expect you have stuff to be getting on with, I'll be in my office when you are ready.”

The rest of the morning went quite quickly. True to Dave’s word, despite returning earlier than he’d intended, Pete had bought a small lunch with him for them both and, whilst eating, Sally gleaned quite a lot of knowledge. The school had recently been taken over by Norwood Academy after a failed Ofsted inspection but there didn’t seem to be much wrong with the school that a few changes couldn’t improve. It all seemed a very political take over in Sally’s opinion. Nonetheless, the conversion had caused a flux of resignations, which had made Sally’s appointment possible. Pete had recently been appointed head, his first headship, which was a promotion from another Norwood owned school. Between the lines, Sally sensed there was more to his appointment than met the eye but was determined not to get too involved with backroom talk. 

“Thanks for today Pete, I do appreciate you coming in during the holidays,” Sally said, as she finished her lunch. 

“Oh, no worries,” Pete replied, as he stood up and took his jacket off the back of his chair. “I usually come in a few times a week during the holidays. You know what it is like. There was no car in the car park - can I give you a lift anywhere?”

“I could do with knowing where a good shopping centre is. I want to pick up some new clothes and things,” replied Sally.

“Sure thing!” Pete pulled on his jacket and led Sally into the car park, towards a brand-new Mercedes.

“The SL? Pretty car!” Said Sally, with an intake of breath.

“Er… yeah. Erm, little reward for the headship. Hop in!”

Wow! Pretty tidy little reward, Sally mused. Surely, he can’t be on that much if this is his first headship. Alright for some though, she thought.

Three hours and several hundred pounds later, Sally exited a taxi laden with bags and struggled to the front door. Fumbling with the key in the lock, Sally finally managed to let herself in, barging the door with her shoulder.

“Sherlock?” asked Mrs. Hudson, coming to the door of 221a, which had been left ajar. 

“Just me,” replied Sally.

“Oh hello, dearie. You look like you’ve been busy. I was hoping you were Sherlock. He left in such a hurry, went racing out of the door. I do hope everything is OK.”

“When was this?” Sally enquired. If he’d not long left, this could be a good time to return the blanket.

“About 30 minutes ago. That boy…” and with that, Mrs. Hudson returned to her flat.

Sally opened the door to 221c and went down the stairs to the living room. She quickly put the bags into the bedroom and collected the blanket from the coffee table. Was there a coffee table before? Sally pondered, whilst grabbing the blanket and racing back up the stairs, slamming the door behind her. She darted upstairs and tentatively pushed the door.

“Sherlock?” She asked in a semi whisper, before giving the door a firmer push and walking in, putting her head around the corner. The room remained much the same as the night before. Sally fully intended to put down the blanket and leave, but she couldn’t help but be drawn into the room and the oddities it contained. She paused briefly at the desk under the window, piles of post-its, pictures and maps were strewn across the table. She moved towards the skull she’d seen last night. There, by the side of it, was a revolver. She picked it up. They were bullet holes! But before she could turn to inspect them further;

“Hello Miss Tavistock. Make yourself at home.” Sherlock. Sally dropped the gun.

“Er…I…er…blanket!” was the best she could manage, holding the blanket aloft.

“So I see. You’re welcome. Strange, I seem to remember you being slightly annoyed at me when I let myself into your flat last night.”

“You left the door open! It’s not like I’ve got my own key to your plac…” her voice trailed off and she slid her hands into her jeans pockets.

“You’ve locked yourself out,” smirked Sherlock, raising an eyebrow.

“I’ll borrow Mrs. Hudson’s…”

“She’s just gone out.” More smirking. Sally’s eyes narrowed. God, she hated this man. Sherlock sighed, put his hand into his pocket and fished out a key and held it out as he walked over to Sally. She took the key and Sherlock began to remove his coat.

“Exactly, how many keys do you have to my flat?” asked Sally.

“3 or 4. I’ve lost count. Good job, isn’t it really?”

“Arggh!” Sally growled, pursing her lips. Sherlock raised his eyebrows again. “Just stay out of my flat, OK? Keep a key for emergencies. One key. I’ll have the rest.” Sally held out her hand.

“Well, I don’t know where they all are…” Sherlock mused, turning on the spot and looking around. Sally genuinely believed this and sighed. She made for the door.

“Nice coffee table. Matches the other furniture.”

“I bloody knew it!” Sally tuned around. “I don’t need your help Holmes. Stay out of my flat and, whilst I’m at it, stay out of my phone!”


	6. In a heartbeat

Almost a week had passed since the blanket meeting in 221b and, to Sally’s relief, the consulting detective had barely been about Baker Street – he was obviously engaged elsewhere and this suited Sally just fine.

She had spent most of that week in front of her laptop, busily planning lessons for the school year ahead; long term overviews, Medium term plans... she’d already begun to be inundated with requests from work and things would only get worse; so much for having 6 weeks off. If only she could get her head around her latest lot of planning – The Mayans. Sally shut the lid of the laptop with a bang and sighed. She couldn’t help but feel that if she was not inspired by planning the topic, her pupils would feel the same about doing the work. She decided that she had done enough work for one day. It was, after all, getting decidedly closer to the end of the holidays and therefore relaxation would soon become a thing of the past.

Sally moved the laptop off of her lap and into the empty space on the sofa beside her and took out her phone. No texts, no calls. Not that she was expecting any, but since her move down south there had been a distinct lack of enquiry about her well-being from her northerly friends. She'd even stopped getting calls and texts from the ex. Absent mindedly, she found herself opening Sherlock’s message. Why couldn’t she get that man out of his head? Tapping the phone against her leg, Sally decided that she could not stay at home any longer and decided to seek out a friendly face. 

Sally shut and deadlocked the door of 221c and knocked on 221a. Mrs. Hudson opened the door and welcomed Sally inside. As Sally walked in, she couldn’t help but notice Sherlock Holmes, sitting at the kitchen table.

“Come and sit down dearie, the kettle has just boiled. I’m just going to nip next door and get us some nice iced buns from the café. Sit down, sit down," and with that she walked out of the flat. Sally debated turning and following her out, she could easily claim that she had only wanted a quick word, but she found herself sitting down opposite Sherlock. Neither spoke.

“So, why are you here, Sherlock?” Sally asked, breaking the silence. “You don’t strike me as being the sociable kind.”

“What ‘kind’ do I strike you as?”

“More sociopath than socialiser,” Sally replied.

“I have to say, you do a very good job,” Sherlock raised an eyebrow and smirked. 

“What do you mean?” asked Sally.

Sherlock slid his hand across the table and took hold of Sally's wrist. “You act like you don't like me, yet here you are. You could’ve walked right out again but you chose to stay, to sit down. Your words suggest that you despise me but everything else tells me otherwise.” He fixed Sally in the eyes, staring deeply; she stared back before coming to her senses.

“Don’t try to deduce me Sherlock. You don’t know me,” said Sally, shaking her hand free and standing, pointing a finger at Sherlock. Sherlock stood just as quickly as she did and was, in a heartbeat, standing immediately in front of her. Sally took a step backwards and felt her back touch the wall behind her. Sherlock quickly moved his left hand and pinned her arm to the wall and moved his head close to hers. Sally could feel the warmth of his breath on her cheek as he whispered in her ear. 

“You left Manchester, not because of an ex as was my first deduction but because of the death of your brother; I saw his picture in your case. Your last contact with him, according to your phone, was 5 months ago. You would not have a picture of someone you have fallen out with, therefore he must’ve died. You blame yourself for his death – you bite your lip, not because the physical pain stops your emotional turmoil but because you think you deserve the pain,” at this point, Sherlock moved to look directly at her. He traced her lips with the thumb of his free right hand and Sally opened her mouth, ever so small, barely noticeably, in response. Sherlock moved his face close to hers as if he were about to kiss her. “I’m glad to see you’ve taken my advice.” 

Sally moved her free hand to his wrist and held it tightly. They both stared intently into each other’s eyes, their breathing rapid. 

“I know that you have been hiding in 221c to avoid me, but subconsciously you’ve been waiting for a time when you might cross my path; your heartbeat tells me that you find being near me exciting. Your eyes tell me you feel anything but hate for me and…” continued Sherlock, studying her face.

“Sherlock! What on earth is going on?!” cried Mrs. Hudson, as she stepped back into the kitchen, with a small plateful of iced buns in her hands. Sherlock turned to look at Mrs. Hudson and, taking advantage of the distraction, Sally was able to free herself of his grasp with a slight push. Sally slipped past him and squeezed by Mrs. Hudson, escaping the room; the tears that had begun to form, were now rolling freely down her cheeks.

“Mrs. Hudson!” scolded Sherlock, and moved past her, almost knocking her over. He chased Sally through the lobby, running out of the front door just in time to see Sally disappearing into a taxi that immediately set off down the road. Annoyed, Sherlock kicked an empty bottle that was laying on the path and projected it down the street.

Seated in the back of the taxi, Sally slumped forward and gasped for breath. The arrogance of the man, looking through her phone; however that wasn’t what had upset Sally the most. Of course, the newspapers had been full of how clever Mr. Holmes was but she never actually believed all of it. Or maybe she did. Maybe she knew that he’d see right through her and that that was the reason she decided to hate him and wanted to avoid him. She knew that he would reveal her secret; she killed her brother.


	7. The Truth Will Out

The tears had stopped before she arrived at school. Why, exactly, she told the cabbie to take her there, she wasn’t sure – she just knew she had to escape from Baker Street and escape Holmes.

Turning the door handle to her classroom and stepping inside, Sally smiled; good old Dave had backed her display boards for her. That would save time. Sally found the remote control to the sound bar and switched it to Bluetooth. She paired the device to her phone and selected a song - ‘Walking on Broken Glass,’ Annie Lennox from the ‘sounds of the nineties’ album. Setting down her phone, she began to rearrange her room, setting the tables out into a seating plan she’d devised the night before.

“Thought you worked in a school, not a discothèque,” said an all too familiar voice standing in the doorway of the classroom. Removing his scarf and taking off his coat, Sherlock moved into the classroom and walked towards Sally and the table in her hands. “Where is this going?” he said, taking the table from her – Sally being too stunned to argue.

“Can’t you just leave it Sherlock, haven't you done enough?” replied Sally, moving to switch off the music. “How did you get in?”

“Lax security, I didn’t even need my fake ID. Took me a long time to perfect as well. Perhaps you need to make the head aware, considering this is a school.” Sherlock placed the table exactly where Sally had planned to put it and produced a lanyard from his pocket, with a small card attached and flung it on the table. He walked towards Sally and picked up the table she had begun to move and, without waiting to be told, placed it down at the far side of the room, exactly where Sally had intended it to go. “I couldn’t leave our conversation where it did,” replied Sherlock, sitting on the edge of the desk.

“So you followed me purely to antagonise me further?” said Sally, picking up the ID and turning it over in her hand. “Why on Earth would you make yourself a fake ID for this place? It's very good, accurate. Scary.” She threw it back onto the table.

“No need to follow you. You are new to the city and don’t know anyone – where else would you go? I used google maps to find the school; you mentioned it over dinner on your first night. I felt our conversation was not resolved.”

“Why do you care, Sherlock? You don’t do emotions.”

“No. This is true. I do find them all very tedious, but I am between cases and so I thought I would take up yours.”

“Mine?” replied Sally, turning away and pretending to busy herself. “I’m not a case, Sherlock.”

“You blame yourself for the death of your brother, so much that you are at the point you think you killed him,” replied Sherlock, looking towards Sally. She stopped in her tracks, her mouth open. She stared at him, unable to speak. She took a sharp intake of breath.

“That’s because I am responsible. There you go, well done. Case closed.” The words stung Sally’s tongue as they left her mouth.

“Only, of course – it could not possibly have been your fault. I’ve read the inquest; it was suicide.”

“And how...? John.”

“Yes. John. I had deduced your brother’s death and I spoke to John who confirmed it. I recognised the uniform in the picture and knew he was in the same regiment as John.”

Sally slumped down in defeat. For far too long she’d hidden the events surrounding Simon’s death. Perhaps she should come clean, though just why Sherlock was the one who could extract this information from her, she wasn’t sure.

“He was discharged in 2012 and everything seemed normal,” she sighed, her eyes filling up. “I saw no signs. Maybe I was too busy with work. He got back into civilian life and got a job bouncing at one of the local boozers – The Queen of Hearts. Queen of Tarts, the locals nicknamed it because there were a few. He was never short of a girl, my brother. Emily was the love of his life, but they argued at lot; she wanted children, him not so much - said he couldn’t bring children into the world he’d seen.” Sally couldn’t believe how easily everything was spilling out. Things she’d bottled up, things she swore she’d never reveal. “They split just after Christmas. He seemed OK, moved in with me as she stayed on in the flat they rented and life went on.” Tears formed in Sally’s and she looked down.

“Don’t snivel,” snapped Sherlock. Sally looked up – his eyes were cold, emotionless and Sally sat open mouthed in amazement. She narrowed her eyes and wondered how anyone could be so callous and uncaring. She was about to curse but then realised the tears had stopped and her lip had been saved. 

“March 16th. I told him I’d be home by 7; we were going to have dinner together because it was an anniversary for them and he didn’t want to be alone, but then my friend Jane had had a bad day at school. I ended up staying later than I thought…I’d tried calling… the traffic was awful...I was only an hour late. I walked into the front room and…” Sally was forced to stop; tears fell without control.

“You blame yourself because you think that he was expecting you to be able to save him. You believe that he thought you’d be home on time.” 

A small, meek sob of “Yes,” was all Sally could manage. Sherlock looked at Sally with a look of pity and distain. He didn’t like emotions and this was the supporting evidence. It left you vulnerable and weak. That being said, his feelings of pity seemed to outweigh the distain and that was something new. It was an emotion he certainly didn’t want. It was true that he was between cases and felt he needed to keep his mind occupied, no matter how mundane the case was and, irritatingly, John was right, there was something about Sally that was very ‘John’. Perhaps she could be his protégé after all; John was certainly less available since the thing had arrived and he always felt much better with a real, live person to speak to - the skull always attracted far too many stares and the deer stalker could manage that quite nicely by itself. Just how to get her away from the babysitting?

“You know, no matter when you got home, you wouldn’t’ve been able to save him. The drugs he took – irreversible damage after just 30 minutes. They had been in his system for at least four hours before he passed. I had Molly access his autopsy report.”

“Molly?”

“Molly Hooper – she works at Barts. You would have heard this for yourself had you gone to the Inquiry.

“I couldn’t face it.”

“Evidently.”

“My therapist could take some tips,” sniffed Sally, who was now stood up and rummaging in her handbag for a tissue. “I saw her weekly after Simon’s death.”

“You were able to keep your secret from her, but you knew I’d see right through you. Perhaps that is why you picked Baker Street to move to.”

Sally rolled her eyes. Sherlock made her feel so out of control. It was like he could read her mind. “Do you never have the day off?”

“Nope.” Replied Sherlock, popping the P. 

“Time to lock up Sally,” said Dave, walking into the room. “Oh, ‘xcuse me,” said Dave, his tone changing when he caught sight of Sherlock. “Didn’t mean to interrupt. I have to lock up Miss. Tavistock,” and with that he walked away.

“Jealous,” remarked Sherlock, tying his scarf.

“Pardon? What do you mean ‘jealous?’” repeated Sally.

“He is. So much so obvious. Well, come on, better do as he said,” and with one movement, his coat was on and he swept out of the classroom. Sally shook her head and followed him out. She wasn’t sure of what exactly had just happened that afternoon but she somehow felt lighter.


	8. Violingate

After the encounter at school, Sally had felt like a weight had been lifted off her shoulders. 

She genuinely didn’t see Sherlock for the next few days. She neither went out of her way to avoid him, nor did she seek him out. She busied herself making sure that she was as organised for work as much as she could be and Dave had been an absolute godsend. When Sally had gone into school, any hint of the irritation that had been present in Dave’s voice had gone. When she’d mentioned the damp problem at 221c in passing, Dave had turned up that evening complete with sealant gun and a large bucket of, what looked like, pink gunk. Relieved to hear that it wasn’t anything too serious, Sally was pleased with the result; even if it had meant him staying late into the night and crashing on the sofa. She did have to chuckle at the expression on Mrs. Hudson’s face as she let him out in the morning. A day’s worth of painting and the flat was looking a million times better than when she first moved in and the smell of damp was slowly fading.

Dave was a good bloke and Sally guessed that she could see where Sherlock was coming from, he always seemed to appear at her classroom door whenever she was in school and he’d send her several texts messages, about nothing in particularly, every evening - although perhaps he was just lonely. He seemed to dedicate a lot of his time to school and had no family to speak of. However, whilst he was nice enough, he wasn’t Sally’s type. It also hadn’t been that long since she and her long-term boyfriend Nick had split up. They had been together for 6 years but he was unable to support her at a time when she needed him the most. He hadn’t been that supportive when Simon had moved in with her – Sally knew that he’d been keen to move in himself but she was keen that Simon was looked after and, even though she owned a three-bed semi, she felt that moving her boyfriend in, not long after Simon had split up with his girlfriend, would be rubbing salt into the wounds. When Simon passed away, Nick didn’t have the time or patience for Sally’s grief and it wasn’t long before he was cancelling dates to be ‘out with the boys’ – or Tara, as Sally discovered she was called.

Sally had spent the last few days of the holiday’s exploring the sight of London, doing the touristy bit. She’d also done a fair bit of shopping and was finally happy with the way that her flat was looking.

The night before the start of term had arrived and Sally was determined she should get a good night’s sleep. It was only training the following day, but Sally wanted to make a good impression and so needed a good night sleep. She’d been having back to school dreams the past few nights and so she was determined that she was going to relax. She’d treated herself to a ‘meal for £10’ from the local supermarket, had a bath using some new products that she’d treated herself to from Lush and settled down in bed with a good book. It was no good. Eleven pm arrived as did midnight, followed by 1am. It didn’t help that summer had finally chosen to arrive at Baker Street and the heat was claustrophobic; even having the bedroom window open fully didn’t help. There was little breeze coming through and the street noise from above irritated her more than it should. Sally turned over and closed her eyes, “Go to sleep, you daft cow!” she muttered. Just then, the air was punctuated by what, Sally was sure, was a cat being strangled. 

“What the fuck?!” said Sally, again out loud. She sat up in bed and listened intently before getting out of bed and padding over to the window, reaching out to the top sash. She paused – what was that noise? Realisation dawned over her face.

“Sherlock!” Sally was fuming, she was definitely a girl who liked her sleep and tonight she was more in need of her sleep than usual. Sherlock ‘playing’ the violin at ridiculous o’clock was not going to help. Sally walked across the bedroom and collected her red dressing gown from the back of the bedroom door. She put in on, tying it closed as she stormed out the bedroom, collecting the keys from the coffee table and slipping them into her pocket as she walked past. She stormed up the stairs leading out of 221c and slammed the door shut before equally stomping up the stairs towards Sherlock’s flat. Sally was determined to give him a piece of her mind.

“It is half. past. one. in the morning,” said Sally, as she pushed open the door to Sherlock's flat, resting her hand upon the door. Her face was one of pure thunder. Sherlock, dressed in silk pyjamas and wearing a silk dressing gown, was stood at the open window. Violin to his chin, he didn’t notice Sally had arrived.

“Sherlock!” screeched Sally, walking into the flat, “It’s 1:30 in the morning – I’ve got to be up for work in 4 hours!” 

“Ah, Sally,” said Sherlock, putting the violin down and looking over to her. “I hope I have not disturbed you and…” Sherlock paused and squinted, it was almost as if he was searching for something. “…Dave?”

“Dave? Why would you have disturbed him? You’ve disturbed me, Sherlock. Me.”

“No I haven’t. You’ve not been to sleep yet – no drool,” replied Sherlock, pointing at her shoulder with his bow. “Has Dave kept you awake?” He snapped the bow back to the violin and played violently, tunelessly.

“He’s not here,”

“Sorry! Can’t hear you!”

Sally walked over to Sherlock and made to snatch the bow from his hands. He moved it just in time and held it above her head. Sally reached up and grabbed his wrist. She held tightly and this time it was her who was looking deeply into Sherlock’s eyes. She paused.

“You are such a child,” she said, tilting her head up and standing on tip toes, her mouth just inches from his. “Dave, for your information, has only stayed over the once and that was on the sofa. Why do you care Sherlock? Are you jealous?” Sally raised an eyebrow, not breaking eye contact from him.

“Not at all. I have no need for such petty emotions.”

“Really?” smiled Sally. “You aren’t the only one who can take a pulse.” With that, taking brief advantage in Sherlock's surprise, Sally grabbed the violin bow from Sherlock’s hands and flung it through the open window and onto the street below. She smiled sweetly, turned and strutted across the room. “Close your mouth Mr. Holmes,” she added as she walked without looking back, before shutting the door firmly behind her. 

Sherlock could not comprehend what had just happened. He continued to stare at his door for several minutes after her departure, only stopping to look out of his window at the bow now laying on the pavement.


	9. A Matter of Urgency

The first four weeks of term passed in a bit of a blur. The children in Sally class were a challenging bunch and it took a while to get them into a routine, but Sally felt that she was slowly winning. The staff at the school were great, except for Tina, who Sally had decided was a stuck up, snobby cow. This realisation occurred when Tina had ignored Sally’s chirpy “Good morning!” for three days straight. Reasoning that she may not be a morning person, Sally tried to ingratiate herself to Tina at the end of the school day, by bringing her a cuppa but she never thanked her. Tina never made it into the staffroom. At first, Sally thought she was just conscientious, getting her work completed at lunch so she could leave earlier than the 6pm that most people left, however she soon realised that it was because she spent most of her break times huddled in a corner with Pete. Maybe they were having an affair?

Sally had bumped into Sherlock once or twice as they passed each other in the hallway. Sherlock was quick to bustle away and Sally couldn’t help but notice that there was a distinct lack of eye contact from him. The violin usage had decreased though, which had to be a bonus. 

It was just before half term. Sally had been at school later after parents evening and so it was a good 8pm before she arrived back at Baker Street. She was just undoing the door when she heard a familiar voice behind her.

“Oh, hello John!” said Sally, leaning in to receive a peck on the cheek. “How are you? Mary and the baby OK?”

“Lovely to see you again! Yes, they are both great thank you, just here to see Sherlock. I’ve been summoned!” replied John, flashing his phone and then heading up off the stairs.

Sally turned the key to her own flat, flicked on the light and walked down the stairs. Leaving the key on the sideboard, Sally moved into the bedroom and got undressed before heading into the shower. 5 minutes later, Sally emerged from the bathroom with a towel wrapped around her, protecting her modesty, leaning her head to the side so she could dry it with towel drying her hair. The shower was now a delight to use after another one of Dave’s late night DIY visits, although she still made it out before the end of her shower song. Sally sat down in the edge of her bed and picked up her phone: 5 text messages.

‘221b. Come at once. SH’  
‘Now. SH’  
‘Immediately. SH’  
‘Urgently. SH’  
‘…’

Sally rolled her eyes. She could easily ignore the message, slide into bed and drift off. It had been a long day and she wanted nothing more than to get into bed and relax but on the other hand, Sherlock's response to ‘Violingate’ as she called it, had greatly amused her and she was intrigued to see what the great detective considered to be so important that he was prepared to break his self-imposed silence. Giving her hair a cursory dry with the hair drier, she pulled on her jogging bottoms and hoodie and headed up the stairs.

The door the 221b was ajar, as usual. Sally walked into the flat; Sherlock was sat in an armchair at the far end of the room opposite the kitchen, his hands steepled under his chin. John was busy typing on a laptop that was set down on the desk by the window.

“You summoned?” said Sally, complete with exaggerated bow and mini curtsey. 

“Coffee, Black two sugars.” Replied Sherlock, barely moving and not looking up.

“You called me up to make you coffee? I’m not your bloody maid!”

“He was talking to me,” said John, standing and shutting the lid to the laptop. “He probably hasn’t realised you are here yet. Tea?” John busied himself in the kitchen, whilst Sally continue to look at Sherlock. He seemed to be absorbed in thought. What seemed like an age passed before Sherlock removed his hands and turned in her direction.

“Ah Sally, we really do need to work on what ‘urgent’ actually means.” 

At this point, John emerged from the kitchen and passed Sherlock his drink, he then walked towards Sally with a cup of tea before going back into the kitchen for his own beverage.

“So, what was so urgent then Sherlock?” Sally asked, taking a seat on the sofa and gently blowing the tea to try and cool it.

“John.”

“John what?” replied Sally.

“John has something to ask you.” At this, John look at Sherlock, tilting his head to one side. His eyes widened and nodded towards Sally.

“Very well,” Sherlock sighed. “Sally, John would like to invite you out for dinner.”

“I’m very flattered, but what would Mary say?” chuckled Sally, not being serious in her response and knowing there was more to the story than Sherlock was admitting.

“Sherlock! Yes, no – Mary wouldn’t… I… the thing is…”

“What John is feebly trying to say is – we are on a case and we need to attend an event and blend in. John seems to think that this would work best if we both went accompanied with a ‘date’,” Sherlock began, using his fingers to punctuate the word date. He obviously has Mary and I clearly have no time for such matters…”

“Are you trying to ask me out on a date, Sherlock?” said Sally, trying desperately to keep a straight face, knowing full well that this would fluster the detective. Sherlock turned towards her and replied firmly.

“NO!” he turned to John “You see, I knew this is what would happen. I’ve already told you that he woman clearly has feelings for me. I knew she would misread what I said,” he then turned back to Sally. “Look, I’m very flattered but I am married to my work...”

Sally burst out laughing. “Don’t be flattered Sherlock, I wasn’t being serious. And ‘the woman has feelings for me?’ What planet are you on? I have no more feelings for you do than me.” 

Now it was John’s turn to laugh. Both Sally and Sherlock turned to stare at John.

“Oh my God, you have the same look. Scary,” said John, getting to his feet and walking towards the kitchen.

At that point, the door to 221b opened again and in walked a woman whom Sally recognised from John’s description as being Mary Watson.

“Hello boys, all sorted? Oh, hello – you must be Sally.” She shot a glance towards Sherlock. “I see what you mean John,” she smiled as she waked towards her husband, planting a small kiss on his cheek.

“What do you…” began Sally, but was interrupted by John asking Mary about Charlotte and generally catching up with the events of the day for each of them. Sally walked towards Sherlock.

“Get the feeling we’re the butt of some sort of joke here,” she said.

“Mmm,” replied Sherlock, returning to his chair and assuming the position Sally found him in when she walked in. 

“So are we good? Is this happening?” asked Mary.

“Yeah, why not – should be a barrel of fun,” replied Sally, unconvinced.


	10. Not a Date, Date

The night of the not a date, date arrived and Sally found herself uncharacteristically nervous. Whether it was attending a function in which there was someone worthy of Sherlock’s attention, and therefore some element of danger, or whether it was spending the night with Sherlock himself that made her feel ill at ease, she wasn’t sure. Whilst her feelings of hatred had waned in the light of his investigation into the events surrounding Simon’s death, she still felt uneasy around a man would could so easily have faked his own death, trivialised suicide and disregarded the feelings of those around him. Still, John, Mary and Mrs. Hudson had appeared to have forgiven him. Equally, she was unsure she was able to deal with his personality; work was getting increasingly busy and, despite it now being half term, she was under considerable pressure to change displays, do assessments and plan the upcoming term. And there was the small matter of the nativity.

“Stop it! It is a night off, enjoy it. Forget school,” said Sally out loud to her reflection, smoothing her dress down over her stomach and turning slightly to check out her behind. She didn’t scrub up too bad, although perhaps she was showing a little more cleavage than she should and maybe her new shoes were a little too high, perhaps too tarty?

“You look fine. Were you just talking to yourself?” Sherlock stood in the doorway to her bedroom.

“Stop letting yourself into my flat, Sherlock!” said Sally, feeling exasperated. 

“We are going to be late. Come on,” said Sherlock, completely ignoring Sally’s protestations and turning to leave.

“Where are my flowers?” asked Sally, smirking at Sherlock and raising an eyebrow as she swept past Sherlock, picking up her bag.

“This isn’t a date,” Sherlock began.

“I was being facetious! You can lock up. You seem to have the key.” And with that, Sally disappeared up the stairs and found Mary and John in the lobby with Mrs. Hudson.

“Oh, Sally – you look smashing. Absolutely stunning,” she began. “Look Sherlock, look how pretty she is in a dress, and those shoes. I don’t know how you can walk in those!” she continued as Sherlock emerged from 221c. He did not reply, merely gave Mrs. Hudson a cold look and walked out of the front door, lifting the collar to his coat.

““Thanks Mrs. Hudson,” said Sally.

“Thanks Mrs. Hudson. See you soon,” said John, leaning in and kissing Mrs. Hudson on the cheek as he followed Sally and Mary out of the door.

16 minutes later and the taxi pulled up in front of the Shard. Sally couldn’t quite believe her luck, she had wanted to go here for a while but could not afford the extortionate prices they charged and now here she was - on expenses! Sherlock stepped out of the taxi first and Sally was surprised to see him pause just outside the door and offer his hand to help her out of the car. She accepted his help, clasping his hand as she swung her legs out of the door, trying to maintain her dignity as she exited the vehicle.

“Are you OK, sweetheart?” he asked, as he held her hand, gently entwining his fingers between hers as he led her out of the taxi and towards the door. Sally could feel her heart begin to beat faster. She was sure Sherlock felt it too; he began to stroke her hand with his thumb and pulled her tightly towards him. They walked into the lobby and towards the lift. Sherlock released his hand and turned to face Sally. He looked deep into her eyes and gently moved the hair away from her eyes. 

“You look stunning,” he said as he leant towards her. Sally subconsciously parted her lips and wet them with her tongue, unnoticeable to anyone other than Sherlock who, by this time, had his hand cupping the back of her head and his mouth close to her ears. “This is really believable, keep it up!” he whispered. Sally had been serious in her joking about the flowers – she knew this wasn’t a date, but Sherlock certainly had a way of making her pulse race.

The first hour passed in a bit of a blur. This was mainly thanks to the fact that Sherlock and John were ‘on the job’ and therefore she was left propping up the bar with Mary. Mary was good company; she obviously loved John and was very inciteful about Sherlock. Maybe it was her warm manner or the £15 a glass ‘Under the Sea’ cocktails that seemed to be slipping down all too easily. It wasn’t long before Sally was opening up about her brother.

“How could John forgive him? He pretended to take his own life. I don’t get it," said Sally, as she finished her fifth cocktail. 

“It isn’t the way it seems. He did it to protect John – John’s life was at risk. It did take John a long while to see that though. You shouldn’t be so hard on Sherlock. He does have feelings buried deep down, if you have the patience to find them. Oh – look out, here they come.”  
Just as Mary had said, John and Sherlock began walking towards them, Sherlock holding a tissue to his nose which, on closer inspection, contained small droplets of blood. His.

“Sherlock, what happened?” said Sally, moving her hand towards his face.

“I’m fine. Stop fussing,” replied Sherlock, moving his head out the way. “Graham is taking care of everything now. We can leave.”

“Gregg,” muttered John.

“We can’t. We’ve just ordered another round and a table has become available. Come on,” said Mary, grabbing Sherlocks arm and directing him towards an empty table, forcing him to sit. She shot John a glance which prompted him to take his phone from his pocket. 

“Oh...erm... Mary – Beth has text. She can’t get Charlotte to settle,” said John, looking up from his phone.

“Sorry guys, we’ll have to go – but stay. Drink are on the way!” added Mary, grabbing her coat from the back of the chair and pushing John towards the door. Sherlock said nothing. Sally watched them leave and sat down opposite Sherlock, just as a waiter brought four cocktails from the bar on a tray and placed them on the table.

“That is £60 right there. I’m not leaving them!” said Sally, grabbing a glass.

“You know, they don’t have a friend called Beth. Mary uses her every time they need to leave and John goes along with it. It first happened when Mary felt she was losing control of the wedding, now it’s happening again with the thing. They think I don’t know.”

“It’s a baby Sherlock, not a thing, a baby. Charlotte.”

“Mmm,” murmured Sherlock, absent-mindedly sipping on a cocktail. 

“You’re going to be Godfather you know. Mary said. I’m not supposed to tell you but..” Sally lifted her glass, took a sip and toasted it towards Sherlock with a smile, “..Oops!”

“Godfather?” remarked Sherlock, “What on earth possessed them to make that decision?”

“God only knows,” said Sally, without hesitation – slugging back the remnants of the glass. It certainly was a good job it was half term. She closed one eye, as if to help her focus.

“You’ve had enough, come on – home time.” Sherlock, put down his glass and stood up to leave. Sally was surprised to see him extend his hand towards her. She grasped it as she stood and felt his long fingers entwine with hers once more. She looked at Sherlock inquisitively. 

“Let’s go home,” he remarked softly, guiding Sally towards the lift – holding her hand firmly in his. 

They remained holding hands as they left the building. Whilst at first she felt that Sherlock was just being through in his pretense, despite it being long after ‘Graham’ Gregg Lestrade had removed the suspect, she felt less certain when the hand holding continued in the taxi for the entirety of the journey home – which passed in silence. It was only when she got to the door of 221c that either one of them spoke.

“Coffee?” asked Sally, unlocking the door with one hand, whilst holding her Jimmy Choo’s in the other, and turning towards Sherlock who was standing impossibly close to her. He looked deeply into her eyes, seemingly trying to read her mind. Sally felt sure that he could see into her soul.

“I am not so unworldly wise as to not to know what the offer of coffee can mean…not to assume that it wasn’t an actual cup of coffee you were indeed offering, as I know how you enjoy misinterpreting what I say … and whilst, yes - I think I would maybe like a cup of coffee…that is to say, actual coffee…it might not be …” began Sherlock.

“Goodnight Sherlock,” replied Sally, standing on tiptoes and pressing her lips softly onto his. She paused momentarily, before turning and going into her flat – shutting the door behind her.

Sherlock remained outside her flat for what felt like hours. He wanted coffee.


	11. Death Becomes Her

Sally stood under the warmth of the spray from the shower, hoping that her pounding head would ease – it was too painful to sing today. She had had an unsettled night sleep, with alcohol fueled dreams. She knew they were play acting, but she could not deny the way she felt as Sherlock held her hand. She played over the events after the boys had finished their business; surely, Sherlock must’ve felt something too for him to behave the way he did in the taxi and the way he responded to her offer of coffee – strange. She tried to put it out of her mind, to remind herself of her vow before she left Manchester but she couldn’t help but allow her mind to run away from her. She knew she would have to go and speak to him. If she just left it, avoided him, she knew it would just grow awkward. How to manage it though? What reason could she have for an impromptu visit? She needn’t have worried, for her shower was interrupted by a knock on the front door to 221c.

Throwing on a dressing gown and still dripping water, Sally padded up the steps to the front door. She opened it and peered round.

“Hello. Can I come in?” It was Sherlock.

“Lost your key?” said Sally sarcastically, “Come in.” She opened the door wide and walked back down the steps. 

“You told me not to,” remarked Sherlock as he followed her down the stairs.

“Since when has that stopped you? Have a seat – I’m just going to finish drying,” said Sally as she walked off into the bedroom, leaving the door open so they could still talk.

“I really only just called to thank you for your help last night.”

“I didn’t do much,” replied Sally.

“You were more helpful than you think. I am getting more and more well known. Before, it was just the blog but the newspaper coverage makes me a little more recognisable. However, sometime a little disguise is enough to fool people, hide in plain sight so as to speak. In this case, a girlfriend was the perfect cover.”

Sally emerged from the bedroom, dressed but still towel drying her long brown hair. “Girlfriend?” she said, with a wry smile.

“I think it is very important that every cover has a story. You were my long-term girlfriend.”

“Well, thank you for your thanks. I thoroughly enjoyed being your ‘long-term girlfriend’ last night,”

“Yes, and I have the bar bill to prove it. Exactly how many cocktails did you have?”

“Maybe one too many, according to my head. Think I spent most of the night throwing up. I’ve got to go into school today as well.”

“That is too much information. Why do you have to go into school?”

“Change displays and move tables around.”< /p>

“Didn’t you do that in the summer?”

“I have to change displays every half term Sherlock. I’m moving tables around as I haven’t quite got the mix of the groups right. Fancy coming in and helping?” Sally was sure Sherlock would say no. To be honest, she wasn’t even sure why she asked. She was stunned when Sherlock replied positively. 

“I’ll just finish drying my hair, then we can go,” she said, turning back to the bedroom. 

Sherlock was equally as unsure as to why he agreed to go. This was not a good use of his time he thought, as he watched Sally walk into the bedroom. His inner voice cursing at his own acceptance was interrupted by another thought - why was he watching her leave the room? Why did he want to follow her in there? This was not right – he was the one who came up with all the answers, not questions he couldn’t fathom an answer to. He was just about to make an excuse for himself when Sally returned and passed him a bag.

“Can you fetch that? I could do with bringing those books back and was going to have to do two trips – this’ll save me a day!” said Sally, heading up to the door. Reluctantly, Sherlock followed.

Arriving at school, Sally set her bags down on the nearest desk. Sherlock, by this time, was thoroughly sulking at the prospect of spending time in a classroom. Still, he reasoned, perhaps this would be a perfect opportunity to engross himself in the boredom of it all and cure himself of this preoccupation with the girl from downstairs.< /p>

“No Dave?” huffed Sherlock, sitting down at a table. Sally raised an eyebrow. 

“He is about somewhere. I might go find him actually, I need the office unlocking so I can get at the photocopier, will you be alright here for a bit?”

Sherlock gave a quick nod and a sneering smile and slouched down on his chair. Sally couldn’t help but think he rather resembled some of the children in her class. 

Sally walked out of the classroom and turned the corner of the corridor. Ahead, she could see Tina’s classroom door open. She could easily just walk past and ignore her but for some reason Sally chose to go in.

Sherlock wasn’t sure what brought him out of his reverie, whether it was the pitch of the scream, the like of which he had never heard before or the fact that he recognised the owner of the scream: Sally.


	12. The Game Is On

The flash of the forensic team’s camera, the hushed tone of the team working, the sound of DI Lestrade talking to Dave, was all drowned out and muted in Sally’s head. She sat dumbstruck. The stench of blood filled her nostrils, just as much as it physically covered her hands, which she held out in front of her, quivering.

Sherlock emerged from Tina’s room and removed the latex gloves he had been wearing. He’d spent enough time inspecting the body and now he needed to speak to Sally.

“Did you move the body?”

Nothing.

“Sally. Did you move the body?” 

Still nothing.

“Sally!”

“Oi! Don’t talk to her like that!” said Dave, turning away from Lestrade and walking towards Sherlock, poking him in the chest with his finger, “She’s in shock!”

“Stop pointing your grubby finger at me...” began Sherlock.

“Alright, boys – that’s enough,” interjected Lestrade. “He has a point, Sherlock. Look at her. Why don’t you take her to get cleaned up?”

“I’ll take her,” said Dave, quickly.

“I’ve not quite finished my line of questioning,” replied Lestrade “Sherlock, take her to the staffroom or something.”

Sherlock nodded and crouched down in front of Sally, he held her forearms. “Come on Sally, let’s get you cleaned up,”

Sally looked up at Sherlock and nodded, rose to her feet and, with his arm wrapped around her shoulders, walked towards the staff toilets. Sherlock stood beside her and helped her wash the blood from her hands, rinsing them under the tap and smoothing the liquid soap over her palms and in between her fingers. After a final rinse, he took her hands and dried them, gently, with the green towel that had been placed over the radiator. Neither of them spoke a word. They were just finishing when Lestrade came around the corner.

“Sally, I’m afraid we are going to need to take a statement. It might be best if you come down the station and do it – away from everything,” said Lestrade. Sally looked up at Sherlock.

“It’s OK, I’ll come too. I shall probably need to listen to what you have to say and it’ll save you saying things twice,” said Sherlock gently. 

Sally let out a small sob and once more Sherlock entwined his fingers with hers and led her from the building.

The interview at the police station was difficult. Sally struggled to recall what had happened as everything was pretty much a blur; she’d walked into the classroom to say hello to Tina, to ask if she was having a good break from school – the irony of them both being in school not escaping Sally. She wasn’t in her room, but Sally could see that the door to her stock room was ajar – she was probably organising it if it was anything like hers. She opened the door and there she was, covered in blood. Multiple stab wounds Lestrade had confirmed, but it was the taped mouth (which Sherlock revealed had been filled with silver stars prior to taping, much at Lestrade’s annoyance and then insistence on remaining confidential) and the eyes that had been gouged from their sockets that Sally could not escape. Sherlock was incredibly quiet as she’d retold the story and spent the interview pacing back and forth behind her. The caring Sherlock that helped her in the toilets, that had led her to the police car, had gone and back was the obnoxious Sherlock, telling her to ‘focus’ every time she began to get emotional. 

The school took the decision to hold a press conference about the murder which Sally sat and watched in Mrs. Hudson’s kitchen. Miss Marchington was a well-loved member of staff, it said. Counselling would be offered to staff and pupils and the school would remain shut for an extra week for investigations to take place. Mrs. Hudson fussed around Sally, plying her with cups of tea and trying to encourage her to eat, but it was no use. Sally had no appetite and barely spoke a word, she just remained in Mrs. Hudson’s kitchen – the mere presence of the motherly figure providing her with comfort.

Sally had lost all concept of time and only noted that it was very late when there was a knock on the door to 221a. It was Sherlock. Sally hardly noticed the whispered conversation between him and Mrs. Hudson in which Mrs. Hudson expressed concern over Sally’s well-being and Sherlock assured her that he would take care of her.

Sherlock walked across to the table and crouched down in front of Sally. He placed his hands on hers.

“Sally?” said Sherlock, looking into Sally’s eyes. “Let me take you down to 221c – it is late. Mrs. Hudson needs her sleep.”

Sally seemed to come round from her trance like state and opened her eyes wide, looking at Sherlock imploringly, nervously.

“I’ll stay with you,” he reassured, raising to his feet and helping Sally to hers. He led her, his arm across her shoulder out of 221a and used his own key to help her down into her own flat. He flicked on the lights to the living room and walked Sally across to the sofa. Sally glanced at the clock on the mantel piece – it was close to midnight.

“Sally?”

“What is it Sherlock? I have told you everything I know,” she sighed.

“I know. I was just going to ask you what you were thinking. I am not so insensitive to know that you are struggling with everything that has happened. What you have seen today is not something the normal mind can process easily,” said Sherlock.

“Now is not the time to insult me,” said Sally, turning away. Sherlock removed his scarf and took off his coat. He walked into the kitchen and Sally heard the familiar flick of the kettle and the cupboard doors being opened – Sherlock was hunting out the teabags. 

“By the sink,” said Sally. That was the last thing she needed – another cup of tea. 

Sherlock soon emerged from the kitchen, not with a cup of tea but a glass of water which he handed to Sally.

“Here, drink this,” Sherlock said, almost ordered, before going back into the kitchen for the mug of coffee he had made himself. He settled himself back down next to Sally, placing the coffee on the table to the side of him. 

“Planning on keeping me company tonight? You’ll be awake all night drinking that,” remarked Sally, sipping at the water and pointing her eyes in the direction of the coffee cup.

“It’ll be a long one I think,” replied Sherlock. Sally forced a weak smile. “I think you should head into the bedroom. Have a lie down on the bed,” he continued, taking the near empty glass from Sally’s hand and placing it beside his cup on the table.

“Is that an offer?” Sally slurred, placing her hand on Sherlock’s thigh and inching closer towards him. She closed one eye as if to help her focus on him better. Sherlock eyed her carefully, but did not move away, nor remove her hand. 

“I think it would be better,” he said carefully, looking at his watch.

“Me too,” smiled Sally, rubbing her hand further along his leg and towards his groin. She was sat so close to him now. She looked straight into his eyes, drowning in them. She couldn’t resist him. She leant her head forward and placed her lips to Sherlock’s, kissing him gently before moving away; she looked towards him to try to gauge a reaction. Sherlock neither moved or responded. Sally moved towards him again, her lips softly touching his before she slumped over his shoulder. In one gentle manoeuvre, Sherlock cradled Sally’s head in his arms. He shuffled himself slightly forwards to the edge of the sofa and moved his free arm around and underneath her, lifting her into his arms. He carried her through into her bedroom and gently placed her on the bed. 

He walked back into the front room, picked up Sally's glass and rinsed it thoroughly before leaving it to drain on the side. He collected his cup of coffee and walked back into the bedroom. He set the cup down on the bedside table and sat up in bed next to Sally, propping himself up with pillows. He leant over Sally and placed his hand upon her chest until he was satisfied with the rate of her breathing. Sitting up, he looked at his watch. He would check her every 30 minutes or so. It was indeed going to be a long night.


	13. Between the sheets

Sally turned restlessly in bed, murmuring which turned into a scream. Sherlock dropped the book that he was reading and reached across to her, folding his arms around her and hushing her – squeezing her tight to stop her thrashing. This confused Sally all the more and she continued to writhe until Sherlock finally managed to calm her, knelt beside her on the bed. Sally stayed there, in his arms, breathless for what felt like an eternity although Sally did not mind, she relaxed into the security his presence gave.

“My head,” said Sally, eventually pulling away from Sherlock. “What? What happened? Why does my head hurt so much? Have you been here all night? I have a vague recollection of…of… oh my god – I kissed you!?”

“The head ache will be a slight side effect of the sedative I gave you. And yes, I have been here all night and yes – you kissed me,” said Sherlock, matter of factly.

“I’m sorry – you what you gave me? I don’t remember asking for a sedative,” asked Sally, looking puzzled.

“You didn’t ask. It was quite a harmless drug, I’ve used it several times. Slightly more than a regular dose, hence the headache but I am a graduate chemist, you were at no risk of harm. I have been checking your breathing and pulse rate every half hour throughout the night. You needed to sleep.”

Sally gazed at him open mouthed. She did not know what to say, she honestly did not know whether to be angry at Sherlock or be grateful – all she could do was cry; the tears flowing like water from the tap. Sherlock scooted back closer to her and held her in back his arms as she rocked back and forth; comforting her like a baby. As the tears subsided, he smoothed the hair from her face and wiped her tears from her cheeks with his thumb. There they sat, with Sherlock’s hands on Sally’s face, for what seemed like an eternity. Each face moved ever closer until their mouths were millimetres away. 

Sherlock moved his lips to Sally’s and kissed her softly, this time it was he who paused briefly to gauge her reaction. Sally’s tongue touch her bottom lip, her eyes dilated. Sherlock deduced that this was an acceptance for him to continue. He moved in again and kissed her hungrily, his right hand still holding her cheek, his left hand stroking the other side of her face. Sally did not protest but kissed him in return, moving her hands towards his silky curly hair and drawing his head closer. 

Sherlock continued to kiss Sally, his tongue exploring as his hands moved slowly down her body, caressing every inch before beginning to tug at her T-shirt. She held her arms above her head and allowed him to lift it off over her head, which he did with ease. He moved his hands towards her breasts, slipping his hand inside the cup of her lacy black bra. He moved his lips away from Sally’s and began caressing her neck with his kisses as Sally groaned in pleasure. Sally reached behind her back and unclasped her bra, slipping the straps off her shoulder. In one swift movement, Sherlock flipped Sally on her back and straddled her legs, moving his mouth down her body, taking a breast into his mouth and flicking her nipple with his tongue. 

Sally arched her back in pleasure and, spurred on by her groans of pleasure, Sherlock continued his assault on her breasts, his own arousal pressing against Sally. She pulled his crisp white shirt, releasing it from his trousers as he began to unbutton it. Working together, Sherlock’s shirt was discarded to the floor and both began to work at each other’s trousers button, tugging down their trousers with a growing sense of urgency. 

Both naked, Sally raised and parted her knees as Sherlock reached down to the shaft of his cock, guiding it into Sally’s wet pussy before thrusting deep inside her. Sally moaned, arching her back at the fullness of his length. They soon found a natural rhythm; Sherlock pumping his cock into Sally, whilst propping himself up with his hands either side of her. Sally meet those thrusts, rubbing against Sherlock’s groin – moaning in pleasure. With one final thrust, Sherlock exploded inside Sally and collapsed against her. The force of Sherlock’s orgasm was enough to tip Sally over the edge and she too climaxed. There they lay momentarily, until Sherlock withdrew and collapsed onto the bed to the side of her. 

“Well,” panted Sally, “That was completely unexpected. Wonderful but unexpected.”

“It was rather,” said Sherlock, equally breathless and sitting up in bed. “It was that unexpected that I did not think about birth control.”

“Pill,” said Sally, sitting herself up in bed and reaching to her bedside table, opening a draw and removing a packet. “Which reminds me,” she removed a small white pill from the packet and swallowed it. “I take it as I have problem periods,” began Sally.

“I really do not need to know,” said Sherlock, raising his eyebrows and with a sudden sharpness to his voice. He stood up and started searching for his boxers.

“I just said, you know, because I didn’t want you to think that I take it because I just jump into bed with anyone,” said Sally.

“Well, you clearly do. You just did," snapped Sherlock, who had located his boxers and was now pulling on his trousers.

“What? Why are you being like this?”

“I’m just saying, it wasn’t exactly difficult to get you into bed,” said Sherlock, the spite in his words being echoed by his tone.

“Are you having a go? Seriously? Like you were an innocent party in that?” Sally got out of bed, her arms clutched across her breasts. She reached back into her bedside draw and found a clean pair of knickers and a new bra. “You kissed me.”

“You were upset. I was consoling you.”

“You were consoling me? What – that was a pity fuck?” Sally was stood up now and was getting flustered. She picked her jeans up off the floor.

“I didn’t say that. I didn’t mean that. You always twist everything I say.”

“How else am I supposed to take what you say? What did you mean then? Come on, Sherlock – why don’t you actually say what you fucking well mean for once in your god damn life?”

"I don’t do relationships,” Sherlock was now sat on the edge of the bed, putting his socks back on, his back to Sally. “That was a one off.”

“So you’ve said before – but that was not your first time. That was experience Sherlock.”

“When have I ever said I was a virgin?” said Sherlock, twisting round to look at Sally. "Everyone just assumes. I have had sex before, I just don’t see the point of it being the focal point of everyone’s life. It is distracting. You are a distraction Sally, one I cannot afford.”

“Jesus Sherlock. You are a bastard. You drug me, fuck me and dump me all within the space of 8 hours. That has got to be some sort of fucking record. Get the fuck out of my apartment.”

“With pleasure.”

And with that he was gone.


	14. The Aftermath

Sherlock stormed up the stairs towards 221b and slammed the door of his front room with such force that even he was surprised that it did not fall off of its hinges. He could not believe what he had just allowed to happen. How could he have let himself succumb to base desires? It had been such a long time since he’d allowed himself such a frivolous experience. Why on earth had Sally reawakened that side of him?

“What on Earth is going on? What is all this noise?” enquired Mrs. Hudson, poking her head round the door. “Are you alright Sherlock?” 

“Go away, Mrs. Hudson, it doesn’t concern you.”

“William Sherlock Scott Holmes!” Hollered Mrs. Hudson with a tone that Sherlock had rarely heard before. It was sharp enough for Sherlock to turn around and sink into his chair. He held his head in hands.

“I am your landlady young man. If you are slamming my doors and generally damaging my property, then it does concern me. I am also your friend – the fact that something has caused you to be so angry, is also my concern. And just this once, you will answer me!” Mrs. Hudson shouted, in a tone she reserved only for serious situations.

“It’s Sally. Happy now? It’s Sally!” Sherlock rose to his feet and spat the words at Mrs. Hudson before striding off towards his bedroom and slamming the door shut. Mrs. Hudson stood still momentarily, contemplating her next movement. She looked towards the door to leave and then looked towards the bedroom door. She briefly turned to leave, but then thought better of it and walked, just as purposefully as Sherlock, towards his bedroom door. Sherlock was sat on the edge of the bed, his head in his hands.

“Sherlock. I have seen the way you look at each other, how you act around each other. Why don’t you just see how it goes? What is so wrong with being in a relationship?” asked Mrs. Hudson.

“Urgh,” shuddered Sherlock. “Everything. It sounds just so…so…awful. Emotions are a human error. I don’t have time for relationships.”

“But you have time for this? For the anger? You spend so much energy and effort putting a wall up.”

“I, unlike others, learn from my previous mistakes. How is Mr. Chatterjee? In Doncaster?”

“Don’t change the subject Sherlock,” sighed Mrs. Hudson.

“Exactly how much have I done for the school murder so far? I would have solved this by now if it wasn’t for Sally,” started Sherlock.

“It was yesterday!” exclaimed Mrs. Hudson. 

“Exactly! I have spent my time with her. Caring about her,” he continued.

“You are in love, Sherlock.”

“Don’t be so ridiculous!” said Sherlock, incredulously.

“It isn’t ridiculous Sherlock, it is what it is. Whatever you think Sherlock, they are your emotions. This is your fault – not Sally’s. Don’t take it out on her.”

“I know. I shall not make that mistake again,” replied Sherlock and with that he rolled over on the bed and huddled himself into a ball.


	15. The Aftermath

Sherlock stormed out of Sally’s bedroom and slammed the door to 221c as he left. Sally, who had sat back down in the bed in shock at what had just happened, slumped sideways onto the bed, hugging her legs. She wanted desperately not to cry but, again the tears just fell. She knew that Sherlock seemed to take pride in his sociopathic tendencies, but this was beyond that. Sally felt the bile surge and stick in her throat; she raced to the bathroom, hunched over the toilet and heaved – filling the bowl with vomit. This continued for a full half an hour until there was nothing left to throw up. 

Sally walked out of the bathroom and into the bedroom, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. She looked at herself in the mirror. Her face was red and blotchy from the crying, her eyes bloodshot from throwing up. How had she allowed this to happen? She was not one for just jumping into bed with a man, no matter what Sherlock may have thought. How did he manage to get under her skin?

Suddenly, her phone began to ring. She walked towards it and picked it up. It was Mary; they had exchanged numbers that night at The Shard. She was torn between not answering and needing someone to speak to. In the end, she answered. 

It had appeared that Mrs. Hudson had called her, concerned over the way that Sherlock was behaving, something about Sally and could John please come over? Mary suspected that if Sherlock had been his usual insensitive self then she had wanted to check to see if Sally was alright. Sally ended up blurting out everything on the phone to Mary, although she instantly regretted it. Mary was incredibly concerned and said she would be right over, with John, as she felt it was important that John checked her out considering the sedative that Sherlock had given her, especially as she had been sick. Sally had just wanted to be left alone and, whilst she probably shouldn’t’ve shared so much information with someone she’d only met properly once, it also seemed easier to share it with someone she didn’t think she would then end up seeing face to face quite so soon.

Half an hour later and the Watsons were there. John emerged from the bedroom with Sally and confirmed to Mary that Sally would suffer no lasting effects but would need to drink plenty in order to avoid dehydration.

“I’m just popping upstairs to speak to Sherlock,” he said and with that, he disappeared.

“I’m so embarrassed,” said Sally, sinking onto the sofa.

“Don’t be silly!” reassured Mary, passing Sally a cup of tea. “We’re just both so surprised! I never knew he had it in him! What was it like?”

“Oh God, you’ve told John that Sherlock and I…? Oh God!” Said Sally, hanging her head in embarrassment.

“Don’t worry, he won’t think anything of it in that respect. Think he is just amazed at the fact that Sherlock has actually had sex. Come on! Was he…you know..” said Mary, moving her hand over, encouraging Sally to spill the beans.

“I wish I could say that it was shit but it was surprisingly good,” replied Sally meekly. “Really good, if I am being honest, he is definitely hiding a talent. I just… I just thought that for him to want to have sex with me, that it would mean something, you know? Obviously not.”

“I think it absolutely means something, and I think that is echoed in the way he reacted. I just think he scares himself at times. He realises that he is mortal and he is capable of having feelings and he just retreats into himself. He has spent far too long conditioning himself to not behave in a certain way. He’ll come around.”

“It’ll be too late,” replied Sally.

Upstairs, in 221b, Sherlock was sat in his chair, legs swinging over the arm and his arms folded. He was wrapped in his blue silk dressing gown and was positively sulking.

“What were you thinking, Sherlock?” said John, emerging from the kitchen with two cups of tea. He went to pass one to Sherlock who turned his nose up to it. John placed the cup on the mantel piece.

“I don’t need a lecture John,” sighed Sherlock, looking up from his chair.

“You slept with her?!”

“No.”

“She said...”

“Oh, shheee said, did she? How very discrete. At least I am not shouting about it from the tree tops. I didn’t sleep with her, there was no sleep involved. I had sex with her.”

“You had sex with her.”

“Yes.”

“You.”

“Yes! Why is that so fundamentally unbelievable. She is attractive – I have hormones, which I normally manage to control, but it hasn’t been unheard of,” Snapped Sherlock, jumping to his feet and walking off towards the window.

“It is unheard of Sherlock. Very. Did you even think about protection? And she isn’t shouting about it; Mary called her because Mrs. Hudson called me. You drugged her, Sherlock – that is over the top even for you. She’s been throwing up most of the morning.”

“Is she ok?” enquired Sherlock, turning to look at John.

“That wouldn't be concern would it? She will be. You can be an absolute cock at times you know.”

“I know,” replied Sherlock, looking down. “In answer to your first question, I don’t know what I was thinking. Since she moved in, she’s been in here,” he continued, tapping his temple with two fingers and walking back to his chair.

“That is because you have feelings for her Sherlock, that isn’t the bad thing you make it out to be.” John removed his coat and sat in the chair opposite.

“It isn’t who I am. I don’t do relationships, I solve crimes.” Sherlock slumped back into his seat.

“So what are you going to do? She’s down there in pieces Sherlock.”

“I’m going to solve the crime. As for Sally, I’m not going to do anything. I’m pretty certain I have made sure she’ll not want to be around me by walking out on her ten minutes after having sex with her. Hopefully, without her around, I’ll get her out of my mind palace.”

“You had sex with her, to annoy her into avoiding you, because you can't stop thinking about her?” said John, tilting his head and leaning forward.

“I had sex with her because…because… because I felt sorry for her I guess. I was caught in the moment. You didn’t see the crime scene John – it was bad even for our standards. Judging by her statement, I don’t think she truly took in everything that had happened to the girl. I drugged her because she couldn’t sleep – it felt awful to watch her suffer. I stayed next to her for the full night, I checked on her, she was not in danger, but I was. I had time to think. Time to think about the night at The Shard.”

“I thought that was just business Sherlock...” interrupted John. 

“It was just being there, with her whilst she slept. I can’t even say I had a momentary lapse because I'd been thinking about kissing her for a while. I wanted to. The sex – well, there must be some element of wanting to for the mechanics of it to work. Right at that moment, I wanted it all for the reasons that normal people might want it. It turned out it was the release I needed to see things clearly again. I started the argument to make her see clearly about me, to avoid any distraction." With that, Sherlock stood up and picked up his violin and walked to the window.

“You’ll have to put it right Sherlock,” said John, getting up. “You can’t just sweep this one under the carpet.”

“Fine,” snapped Sherlock.

“And what about the case? You’ll have to drop that now if you want to avoid being around Sally.”

“Nonsense! The case is the most exciting thing to happen in months! All the evidence points to this being a murder to silence. There is something going on at that Academy and I have every intention of finding out!”

“And Sally?” Asked John.

“Who?” replied Sherlock, so engrossed in the thoughts that now occupied his mind. Sally had well and truly disappeared from his mind palace.


	16. William Watson

Sally spent the week that school had been closed, locked away in her flat. Admittedly, the first few days had been enforced due to the side effects she experienced from the medication that Sherlock had given her. Once the vomiting had subsided, severe stomach cramps followed and she was unable to stray too far from the bathroom. John had popped over and had given her some rehydration salts. Whilst she’d’ve preferred to see her own GP, she also understood the ramifications for confessing what had actually happened. She didn’t see why she should do Sherlock any favours though, until John pointed out that Mycroft would deal with any of the fall out anyhow and that made her feel like he’d be getting away with it twice. 

John revealed precious little about the conversation he’d had with Sherlock that morning, not that she had expected him to really. He did reveal that Sherlock had considered her a distraction and reiterated that he was ‘married to his work’. He’d also mentioned that Sherlock would be continuing the case, which disappointed Sally. That meant she would have to see him again – she was more than happy to avoid him for the rest of her life.

Lestrade had been over once or twice to clarify elements with her statement, although there really wasn’t anything further she could give that was useful. She’d suggested that he spoke to Pete seeing as he and Tina had been close in the weeks leading up to her death. Lestrade seemed to find that useful as he’d raised an eyebrow and had scribbled furiously into his small black notebook and then excused himself to go upstairs to talk to Sherlock. Lestrade wasn’t as discrete as John and had asked what was up between her and Sherlock. The consulting detective had refused to sit in on his visits, despite being invited. Sally left him wondering though, although the revelation that she’d’ve punched Sherlock squarely in the face had he tried to step foot in her flat, left him in little doubt that not all was well at Baker Street.

The night before school quickly arrived. Sally had received an e mail earlier in the day, calling for a briefing first thing that morning. Sally wondered what there was left to say – there had been a whole staff meeting during the break, to discuss the run down of the week ahead: there would be a special assembly that morning and there would be counsellors on hand throughout the day to talk to anyone who might need it. Sally had contemplated replying that she was not able to return to work just yet. Technically, last week’s break from school was enforced, so she would be able to self-cert for a week and she was sure that John would be able to sign her off if need be – she just was not at all sure she could face seeing that room again. She then thought of her class. They would need stability at a time like this – a familiar comforting face. Plus, year 6 was an important year. No, she’d have to go in.

The staff gathered in the staff room, talking amongst themselves in hushed tones. Dave busied himself near the sink before fetching Sally a cup of tea and sitting beside her. Every now and then someone would look towards Sally and then go back to their whispering.

“Right, are we all here?” said Pete, walking into the room with his iPad in hand. “So, I just thought it would be good if we started the day off all together like this. A few updates – the forensic team have finished in 5M and Dave and his team have worked tirelessly to get the room back to normal, so thank you to Dave et al. It is my understanding that the body was released on Friday and the funeral is planned for a fortnight’s time on Tuesday 22nd November. Tina’s family haven’t given the exact time yet, but the school will close that day in order for anyone who might want to attend to be able to do so. It might seem out of place to ask but - I would like everyone’s opinion about the Christmas do on Friday 23rd December, whether people feel we should still go ahead or not. It’s just that the final payment needs to be made at the end of the month for the disco and caterers so, if people would rather it did not go ahead, it makes sense to make that decision sooner rather than later. Anyhow, let me know about that by e mail, I’m happy to go with the majority choice. Lastly, obviously, we are a teacher short in Key Stage 2 but thankfully I got a call late last night from a supply agency able to offer us an outstanding supply at short notice. Sally, as Key Stage 2 leader, you’ll need to spend this morning with him, going through the ropes. Your class can join 5M in the hall for a film. He was supposed to be here by now,” said Pete, looking at his watch. As if that was his cue, the supply teacher walked into the staffroom. With one movement, he pulled his scarf free from around his neck, his soft brown curls bouncing as the material swished past.

“William Watson, supply,” came a voice that Sally instantly recognised. Surely it can’t be? The bell rang and the staff got up to go to class.

“Hey isn’t that your…” began Dave.

“Sally, Dave – a word please,” said Sherlock, quickly intercepting Dave’s words. He waited until the last member of staff had left the room before he continued. “I am here undercover. Mycroft has sorted it out. As far as everyone is concerned I have been teaching for 10 years and have moved into supply teaching in order to share my teaching talent across London,”

“Oh my God. Even as an undercover teacher you have to have a superiority complex. You are so up your own fucking arse it is untrue,” replied Sally, shaking her head.

“You can’t swear, we’re in school.”

“It’s the staffroom – more swearing happens in here than anywhere else on Earth as you’re shortly going to find out. You know what Sherlock, Dave and I will keep your secret because this is going to be the fucking funniest thing I’ll ever witness in my life!” and with that she turned to leave.

“You are supposed to be ‘showing me the ropes’ I believe,” said Sherlock.

“I’ll leave you it,” remarked Dave, “Good Luck.”

“Luck won’t come into it,” replied Sherlock.

“I was talkin’ to ‘er,” said Dave. “Cock,” he muttered under his breath as he left the staffroom, slamming it shut.

“I've got to register my class first and take them into the hall. You’d better get some paper and a pen. I’ll print your timetable,” said Sally, sighing. She now regretted her decision to come into work after all.

Ten minutes later, Sally returned with a bundle of documents in her arms.

“I’ll sit over here,” she said. “Is that far enough away for me not to be distracting you?”

“I wondered how long it would take you. You spoke to John then.”

“A little. Not that he told me much. And, ‘how long it would take you’? What do you expect Sherlock? Me to act like nothing has happened? Do you have any idea of how ill I was after your medication? Let alone how shit I felt about myself after you…” she trailed off.

“Yes, well John kept me well informed of that. Let’s try and move forward, shall we?”

“Oh, I am truly over it Holmes, don’t flatter yourself.”

“Watson.”

“What?”

“Watson. You need to call me Watson.”

“Do you honestly think you’ll get away with it? Your face has been all over the news.”

“Of course, I will. I have. Not one of them recognised me, except for Dave and that is because he’s seen me with you. It’s the deerstalker you see. Most people are not very observant. Change one detail and it is like hiding in plain sight.”

Sally just shook her head. Sherlock and his ‘hiding in plain sight’ nonsense again! The arrogance of the man was astounding but not even the great Sherlock Holmes would survive working in a school – especially 5M. Even Tina had her difficulties controlling the class; hormonal 9 and 10, going on 16, year-old girls and boys who think the answer to everything difficult in a fist in the face. That’s before they’ve even tried picking up a pencil!

Sally worked through the timetable and the long-term plans with Sherlock, showed him the planning format and where he could find the schemes of work on the school system. She showed him how to record safeguarding issues and shared the school’s marking policy. She was bemused by the look upon Sherlock’s face and felt sure that this was the first time in his life that he had ever felt out of his depth. 

“And then of course, there are the observations in a fortnight.”

“The what?”

“Observations. The academy are doing a mini inspection and so are coming in for the day on..” Sally paused as she flicked through the school calendar, “…Thursday 24th November,”

“Well, surely that won’t happen? That’s two days after the funeral.”

“Oh, it’ll be happening Sherlock. If it had been scheduled for the day of the funeral, it would be happening – we’d not be able to go.”

“Really?”

“Of course, Sociopaths, the lot of them. You’ll fit in well.”

“Well, they won’t observe me. I’m new, not even a permanent member of staff. Just supply.”

Sally laughed out loud. “You really think? You’ll be top of their list, Mr Watson. If Ofsted called, you’d be observed. This’ll be no different. I’m going to go down to class – I’m on break duty. Start looking through that stuff and plan your literacy and numeracy for this week. I’ll look over it at lunchtime. You might also want to think about what you are teaching this afternoon – it says PE on your timetable, think they are doing football.” Sally got up from the table and left the staffroom. Whilst the circumstances of Sherlock's presence in school wasn’t good, she certainly would enjoy watching Sherlock attempting to deal with his latest undercover role.


	17. Observation

The following two weeks were just as amusing as Sally had predicted. Sherlock struggled to control the challenging class of children and had been caught in the crossfire of their falling out more than once. He was currently sporting a fat lip from intervening in a fight between two boys in his class and often resembled a mother duck with hordes of pre-pubescent girls following him around with doe-eyes at playtime. It had gotten so bad that Sally had to step in and warn the class about their behaviour and speak to several of the girl’s mothers about how inappropriate their behaviour was towards Sherlock and the awkward position that put him in. Equally, she’d had to have several conversations with Sherlock about the pitch of his lessons and that he was dealing with 9 and 10-year-olds rather than post graduate university students.

Tina’s funeral had passed in a blur. The whole school attended, including Sherlock who, despite not directly conversing with Sally or standing in close proximity to her, observed her closely. Dave, it seemed to him, being the only source of comfort that she needed. He had noted that they had become particularly close over the past fortnight and would often see them in each other’s company, laughing or deep in thought – that was, when Dave wasn’t in conversation with Pete. He even walked passed Sally’s classroom and saw Dave and Sally embracing, bringing rise to feelings within Sherlock that took him a while to dispel and led him to the further deduction that he did, in fact, hate Dave with a passion. However, he was not going to fall into that trap again and took steps to ensure that he had as little to do with Sally as possible. The trail of the murderer of Tina Marchington had well and truly gone cold and Sherlock was beginning to consider withdrawing his undercover role from the school. It was a niggling feeling that not all had been finished that prevented him from ‘handing in his notice’.

The day of the inspection came around all too quickly. Sally had been incredibly quiet over the past two weeks and had removed any form of communication from Sherlock except for work related e mails. That morning in particular she looked shocking – very pale and Sherlock was sure it was her he’d overheard retching in the toilets. Still, it was a very stressful time an even though he was not a permanent member of staff, he was not so oblivious that he couldn't see the way the inspection affected the staff, the atmosphere was palpable. 

His lesson had gone quite well he thought, although he was a little puzzled about his feedback. Whilst no grades were forthcoming from the inspection team, they had, they’d told him, been a little surprised about his subject knowledge in Science, referring to it as inadequate, and they hadn’t really agreed with him that it was a waste of time learning the movement, or not as it turned out, of the sun. He decided to call in on Sally’s classroom, to see what her thoughts to his lesson was. She had, as part of the leadership team, been in on his observation in order to quality assure judgements. Even though she’d been a little distracted with her own lesson – Sherlock had noted beads of sweat forming on her forehead – he was sure that she would agree his lesson was practically perfect.

“Where is Sally?” asked Sherlock, sticking his head round the classroom door.

“She’s already left, I saw her leave as I arrived for my shift,” replied the woman in the room, who was busily wiping the tables down. “Something ‘bout a doctors appointment. Poor lass, she’s been looking shocking the past few days. I think the stress of it all has got to her. Having said that, I am suffering from that PTD thing – mess that I saw in that store room that day. Blood everywhere. See it each time I close me eyes…” she looked up, but was talking to thin air. Sherlock had left.


	18. Feedback

It was gone 7pm when Sherlock arrived back at Baker Street, cursing the length of time he had had to spend marking before he could leave work. He was about to trudge up the stairs to his own flat, when he had second thoughts. He walked past the stairs and paused outside 221c, listening carefully. He could hear movement from inside and spent a good two minutes debating on whether to knock, before doing so. He could hear Sally walking up the stairs, with just as a weary gait as his own, putting the chain on the door before she opened it.

“What do you want Sherlock?” she asked, sighing, not moving to remove the chain.

“Can we talk? I know it is out of school hours but I have some questions about my lesson. The SLE’s weren’t particularly helpful when it came to feedback.”

Sally sighed again, shut the door and removed the chain. She held the door open and allowed Sherlock to walk down into the living room. Sally followed, sweeping up papers that had been on the side in the kitchen, placing them under a pile of newspapers and putting a packet in the kitchen cupboard. Sherlock was intrigued to know what she was hiding but deduced that now wasn’t probably the best time to ask.

“What do you want to know Sherlock?”

“Well, obviously, I am not a trained teacher and I am there undercover, but I do want to try and be the best at things. I wondered what your opinion of the lesson was?”

“Why do you even care Sherlock? Nothing I have seen since I have met you suggests that you give a flying fuck what anyone else thinks. Nothing you’ve done since you’ve been undercover in school tells me that you are bothered about those children and their education. In fact, nothing you’ve done even tells me that you are bothered about the case.”

“There is something serious going on within the academy. Tina’s disfigurement happened after death and therefore was a warning that she’d seen too much. Presumably she’d begun to talk about it due to the pieces of silver in her mouth and the fact that her mouth was taped. Again, all after death. She was killed to be silenced. She knew too much. What could possibly be happening in a school that would warrant murder? Revenge killing? Unlikely – she was new to the area and was generally well liked. I know you had reservations about her but I think she was trying to keep whatever it was that she knew to herself, perhaps to protect others but more likely so that she could extort money from the situation. Her financial records showed some considerable debt. So, it is a case of what could be happening in order for her to be able to blackmail. It must be something significant to make it worthwhile killing her. That kind of investigation takes time. You need to ingratiate yourself with the right people and it would appear I am not making a good impression.”

“Fine. Your lesson was shocking Sherlock. Awful.”

“You couldn't’ve been more gentle?” replied Sherlock, a little aghast that Sally was being so blunt with him. Sally raised an eyebrow.

“Fair enough. Why?”

“You told them the wrong information! How do you get to your age and not know that the Earth orbits the sun? You called three of them thick – to their face – and you spent the last 10 minutes of the lesson staring into space.”

“I was thinking!”

“A fight broke out! I had to separate them. One of them broke the other’s nose. You were lucky you weren’t suspended! It was all I could do for them not to fire you on the spot. You are now on probation – I’ve got to do weekly lesson observations with you, plan with you every week and you’ve got to go on a behaviour management course. In your own time.”

“Ah,” replied Sherlock, steepling his hands under his chin.

“I haven’t got time for it Sherlock. I’m struggling to do my own work as it is!”

“Is that why you were at the doctors this afternoon? Stress?”

“What? How did you...? Yeah – stress. Look. We need this case solved so you can get out of the school. What do you need me to do?”

“This has got to be down to money. I need to get into the financial records.”

“Flirt with Anne.”

“Anne?”

“The officer manager for God’s sake, Sherlock. Teachers need to get themselves in with the business manager and the cleaners. They are the ones who really run the school. Get them on board and you’ll be laughing,”

“Well, that explains Dave.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Dave. You were all over him the other day. And you were holding hands at the funeral. You were ‘getting him on board’. What for? Extra bin bags?”

Sally slapped Sherlock smartly across the face. “No, Sherlock. Being affectionate with someone for their own end is your trick. Remember?”

Sherlock raised his hand to touch his red cheek. He was surprised, Sally’s words stung more than the slap.

“Flirt with Anne – she has the hots for you. Flirt with her and you’ll get access to the financial records. I can have a look at the stuff Pete has got, we’ve got governors this week and there’ll be a report produced.”

“Dave is involved in this, I am sure of it.”

“You are just jealous Sherlock. And I am tired. I’ve given you all the advice I can, go home – I’m knackered.”

“It’s 7.30.”

“Get out Sherlock.”

Sherlock looked at Sally; she looked different. She certainly did seem tired and perhaps everything was taking its toll. He walked towards the door, before turning back.

“How was your observation?” he asked.

“OK I guess. Didn’t get graded.”

“Did they use the word inadequate to you?”

“No.”

“Good. I know you think I don’t care and even I can see why, but I care enough to know you are good at your job Sally. Don’t doubt yourself.” He walked towards her and kissed her gently on the forehead. “Get a good night’s sleep, I’ll pay for a taxi for us to work tomorrow – you can have a bit of a lay in that way. Good night.” He turned and darted up the steps, taking two at a time. Sally watched him leave and a small trickle rolled down her cheek. Why couldn’t he be a complete bastard all of the time? Why did he have to make it so hard to hate him?


	19. Making Your Mind Up

The last week of term came around very quickly. Sherlock had indeed taken Sally’s words to heart and not just the emotional assault on Anne, the business manager - he seemed to up the effort with his lessons too and Sally started to feel confident that his class may learn something from him.

He didn’t share his findings into the financial dealings of the school with Sally. He seemed to think that the less that she knew the better. She couldn’t help but feel pangs of jealousy when she saw him with Anne, but then remembered the fact that he was using Anne in a similar way that he had done to her. She had collected the finance report from Pete at governors and, whilst it didn’t mean much to her, Sherlock seemed to get excited over many elements contained within. She didn’t, however, manage to see the connection with Dave. He had really helped Sally over the last half term and he became a source of comfort to her, with Sally being able to confide in him. He’d even offered to accompany her to the Christmas do, which staff had unanimously agreed should still go ahead. Whilst she remained unattracted to Dave, she enjoyed his company and part of her enjoyed the way Sherlock behaved around him. She did make it clear to Dave that they were just good friends and, whilst perhaps Dave secretly hoped she’d change her mind, she did at least feel she’d been honest with him from the outset. 

Sherlock had initially scoffed at the idea of going to the Christmas party, not least because it was 80’s themed. Upon him finding out that Dave would be collecting her from Baker Street, Sally was surprised to hear that Sherlock had not only put himself on the list but a ‘plus one’ as well. Anne, by this point, had cottoned on to Sherlock’s waning attention and had come to dislike him almost as much as Sally had. If it wasn’t her he was taking, who was it? Not that she was bothered, she reasoned.

As Sherlock was now attending, he’d said that it made sense for him and his date to share a taxi with her and Dave. Sally stood in front of the mirror and admired her outfit; red silk top and blue silk disco skirt. Cheryl Baker eat your heart out. It had been Tina that had suggested an 80’s themed do, perhaps the only good thing she had done for the staff in Sally’s mind. One of the provisos of the do going ahead were that the staff honoured her wishes. Although, quite why they’d decided on a talent show as well was beyond her. Thankfully, she’d teamed up with Dave, Gill from Year 3 and Pete so she, at least, wouldn’t be making a fool of herself alone. 

There was the intercom. It’d be Dave, Sally thought. She buzzed the door, grabbed her coat from the sofa and made her way up the steps. She peered out of her door and saw Dave. He’d really gone to town: mullet wig, tight white trousers and blue jumper. Next to him stood Sherlock, dressed in his usual suit and, whilst Sally couldn’t help but notice how attractive he looked, much to her annoyance, she was unsurprised he had not embraced the theme of the evening. She turned the key in the lock and walked over towards the boys, her high heels clicking on the titled floor of the hallway. 

“Oh, Sally – you look gorgeous,” said Dave leaning in and kissing her on the cheek. He had a bottle of prosecco in one hand and with the other he held her tightly at the waist. “Something for the journey!” he said, waving the bottle. At that moment, the door knocked and Sherlock went to open it.

“That will be my date,” said Sherlock, turning to look at Sally. He opened the door and there stood Molly Hooper. “Come in Molly. You look absolutely amazing, stunning,” he said, giving her a kiss on the lips, before turning to catch a sight of Sally’s reaction. Molly was completely surprised at the kiss and flushed red. “Sally, Dave – this is my… this is Molly,” continued Sherlock.

“Oh, the infamous Molly Hooper! I’ve heard a lot about you!” said Sally, reaching across and giving Molly a big squeeze. She could see Sherlock’s game and wasn’t playing.

“Oh, really?” replied Molly, sounding nervous and surprised at Sally’s reaction.

“All good, I assure you!” smiled Sally.

“I er… can’t help but notice I look a little over dressed,” said Molly. Indeed she was, although she did look gorgeous. She was wearing a figure hugging little black dress and her hair and makeup was immaculate – so much so that Sally was sure she must’ve gone to have it done professionally. Sally didn’t know much about Molly. Mary had intimated on previous occasions that Molly had a crush on Sherlock but that the feeling was far from mutual.

“Yes, sorry Molly – looks like Sherlock forgot to tell you. It’s 80’s themed – everyone will be dressed like us,” she said, waggling her finger between herself and Dave. “Except Scrooge over there, of course!”

“Oh God!” said Molly.

“It’s OK – look, we’ve got time. Let’s all pop down to mine and we’ll see what we can do. I’ve got a jacket with shoulder pads that’ll 80’s up your dress. With a bit of backcombing, jewellery, blue eye shadow and pink lipstick, you’ll look like the fourth member of Bananarama in no time!” Sally grabbed Molly’s hand and let her towards 221c. Reluctantly, Sherlock followed.

“Great idea babes, we can all have a glass of bubbles,” said Dave.

In the flat, Sherlock and Dave sat awkwardly next to each other on the sofa, whilst Molly and Sally sorted themselves out in the bedroom. There was far too much giggling going on for his liking, and did they really need that awful racket blaring out? 

“This is great, thank you so much Sally!” giggled Molly, sipping her wine as Sally pulled her hair into a side pony. “Oh turn it up, I love Jason!” she continued.

Sally reached for the remote and turned up the volume. ‘Too many broken hearts’ blared out from the stereo. She seemed to have a lot in common and Sally thought that they’d both be great friends, if it wasn’t for Sherlock.

“I have to say, I was really nervous meeting you. Sherlock has spoken about you a lot,” She said. “I thought perhaps that there was something going on between you,” she continued, looking towards Sally. 

“Oh, God no! Far too up his own arse,” smiled Sally, pinning Molly’s hair up and applying half a can of hairspray. Molly smiled nervously back, she looked relieved. 

“Don’t forget your drink,” said Molly, handing Sally a glass.

“Thanks, but I’m not actually drinking tonight – antibiotics. I always get a bad cough at this time of year. It’s finally on its way out thank goodness, but don’t want to risk it. Don’t tell the boys though, ‘specially Dave. He’ll think I’m a spoil sport. Plus, I shouldn’t drink as I think I’ll need to keep my wits about me – think he thinks he’s on a promise!”

“Oh, you aren’t together then? Sherlock said...”

“Sherlock seems far more interested in what is going on with me and Dave than I am. Maybe he fancies him?!” Sally giggled. “Right – perfect! Let’s go.”

The girls left the bedroom and Dave leapt to his feet.

“Lovely ladies! Let’s go!” he said, again, leaning in to kiss Sally who missed the roll of Sherlock’s eyes. It didn’t go unnoticed by Molly however, who decided to grab hold of Sherlock’s arm and lead him from the flat.

“I don’t know why you had to change. You looked perfectly acceptable how you were,” Sherlock chastised Molly as they left the flat. Molly looked wounded.

“She’s looks great. Don’t be such as arse, just because you are a miserable bastard,” said Sally, stepping out into the street. 

"Taxi!” she shouted as she raised an arm. The black cab that had been passing stopped and the foursome piled in. Dave sat close to Sally and put his hand on her leg, which he quickly removed when Sally shot him a glare. Sherlock spent the majority of the journey looking out of the window, only stopping to look across at Sally every now and then. Something was different with her but he couldn’t quite place it.

The four walked into the assembly room at the school. ‘Mike’s Musicak’ was set up in the corner and ‘Tainted Love’ by Soft Cell was blaring out. Sally was impressed; the room looked unrecognisable, as did the staff. There was Jim from Year 4 in dungarees -surely he was going to be doing a Dexy’s Midnight Runners performance later in the evening. Jess and Keeley from the office were well made up, they must have used a can of hair spray each in order to achieve their hair do’s.

The evening started off fantastically – great food and brilliant music to dance to. Everyone, with the obvious exception of Sherlock joined in. Molly seemed annoyed at first at Sherlock’s lack of enthusiasm but Sally made sure she was included, pulling her up onto the dance floor with her and Dave - plus it also meant that she could avoid Dave’s wandering hands if there were three of them. 

After the dancing followed the performances. Jim did a mean ‘Come on Eileen’ and everyone ended up joining in Keeley’s ‘The Locomotion’. Now was the turn of Sally, Gill, Pete and Dave. They stood on the stage to a rapturous round of applause. The drum beat started and all four wiggled their bottoms to the beat, before turning around.

“You got to speed it up, then you’ve got to slow it down..” they began. Sally really got into the swing of it. She glanced over at Sherlock who, instead of slouching in his chair and staring anywhere but the stage, as he had done with the previous performers, was staring intently at her. This gave Sally all the encouragement she needed to really show off.

“And try and look as if you don’t care less, but if you wanna see some more…” the music continued. With a quick flash, Dave had grabbed at Sally’s skirt, pulled it off and thrown it on the floor, revealing her red top to be a dress with an incredibly short hem. “Bending the rules of the game…” 

Sherlock leapt from his seat, moving just as swiftly as Dave had removed the skirt and taking off his jacket as he ran towards the stage. He punched Dave in the face, flooring him with one move and tried to hide Sally’s modesty with his jacket whilst trying to drag her off the stage. The song continued and, to their credit, Pete and Gill carried on as best as possible despite the commotion. 

“What the hell are you doing, it’s part of the fucking act you moron!” shouted Sally over the song, pushing Sherlock away.

“You are degrading yourself! We can all see your underwear!” shouted Sherlock, trying to make himself heard over the music.

“I think you’ve broken my nose!” said Dave, staggering towards them.

“Oh my God Dave, are you OK? Come here,” said Sally, trying to take a closer look.

“No thanks! You are welcome to him,” said Dave, pushing her hand away and turning to Sherlock, “You’re a fucking psychopath!” he shouted, storming off.

“High functioning sociopath,” shouted Sherlock, louder than he expected as, at that moment, the song finished.

“I think it is a good time to get back to the dancing!” said Musicak Mike, and the room was again filled 80’s New Romantics – ‘Fade to Grey’ by Visage.

“I don’t need you looking after me. I’m a big girl.” Sally pushed passed him and walked over to the buffet table. A few members of staff walked up to her and put their arm around her, glancing back at Sherlock and then engaging Sally in conversation once more. Sherlock walked back to his table, to see Molly looking darkly at him. That was all he needed.

“Do you have feelings for Sally, Sherlock?”

“It’s William whilst we’re here. I keep telling you. I’m under cover.”

“Don’t skirt the question, William,” said Molly, putting extra emphasis on the name. “Every time you’ve spoken to me, held my hand, kissed me – you’ve turned to Sally. I don’t need to be you to work out what you are doing. And that…” she said, waving her hand towards the stage, “...was just embarrassing!” Her voice wobbled.

“Don’t be silly! I’m just on edge. One of these people could very well be a murderer. You examined the body Molly, you know what they are capable of. Look, I need to apologise to Sally. Let me do that and we’ll go,” he said, putting out his arm and stroking hers in an attempt to soothe her.

Molly look dubiously at Sherlock, but then seemed to accept his reasoning. 

“Are we good?” he asked. Molly nodded. “Good,” he stood, planted a small kiss on her cheek and walked over to Sally.

“Sally, I...er… feel I should explain," began Sherlock.

“No shit," said Sally, crossing her arms and turning to face him.

“Obviously, I’m on edge because anyone here could be a suspect. You know my thoughts on Dave…” he continued.

“Yes, I do. It’s got bugger all to do with you thinking he is the culprit. You can’t stand the idea of him being with me. You are jealous,” replied Sally. Sherlock began to formulate a reply, but was interrupted by Molly squeezing his arm.

“Sher.. William. I just need to use the toilet before we go. Sally – where are they?” said Molly.

“Down to the end of the corridor, down the stairs and around the corner. Bit of a trek I’m afraid.” Sally smiled, which Molly returned, before heading off. Sherlock watched her leave.

“Dance with me,” he said, turning his gaze back to Sally.

“What?” said Sally.

“Dance with me,” he said softly, taking her hand and walking her across the room. The music had changed tempo and ‘Lady in Red’ was now playing. The dance floor was filled with people dancing close. Sally didn’t have much time to respond because she soon found herself in the centre of the floor, with Sherlock’s hand wrapped around her. Sally could feel her heart race and, despite her better judgement, she found herself placing her head upon his shoulder. He must’ve felt her increased heart rate because he caressed her cheek, picked up her chin and kissed her softly on the lips. He pulled away and looked her in the eyes. Something caught the corner of his eye, it was Molly. Standing in the doorway of the hall, she shook her head, turned and ran from the room. 

“Molly!” Sherlock shouted, running after her. Sally followed, feeling the lowest of the low. She really liked Molly but couldn’t help the feelings that Sherlock caused her to have. Molly didn’t deserve to be treated this way. She reached the main entrance and ran out onto the street. Sherlock was stood in the road, calling to Molly to come back, but she had already disappeared into a taxi that began to pull away.

Suddenly, there was a roar of an engine and Sherlock was fully illuminated in the headlights of a car screaming towards him.

“Sherlock!” screamed Sally, racing into the road and pushing him to the ground. There was an almighty thud and screech of breaks. Sherlock staggered to his feet and turned, his life now taking place in slow motion, just in time to see the car strike Sally. Sally bounced off the bonnet of the car, having tumbled as high as the windscreen, smashing it to oblivion. She landed with a thud and a crack on the tarmacked road, a small puddle of blood pooling around her head.


	20. A Life in the Balance

“No!” he screamed as he ran to her, fumbling in his pocket and dialling 999 without even looking. He skidded along the ground and held her head. Her eyes were shut and blood was pouring from a gash at the back of her head. He removed his hand and saw it was covered in blood.

“No, no, no!” he trembled, every inch of him shaking in fear. He leant down and cradled her head.

“What service do you require?” came a muffled voice.

“Hello, what service do you require?” it repeated. 

Someone must’ve picked it up and answered, or even had called on their own phone because the road was full of sirens within 4 minutes, although Sherlock didn’t hear them coming. He was pulled from Sally and away to an awaiting ambulance – he was covered in blood and needed to be checked over. Behind him, teams of paramedics worked frantically on Sally. An unmarked police car pulled up at the scene and Lestrade stepped out.

“What on earth has happened Sherlock? I heard over the radio that there was an incident at the school – but it’s an RTA?”

“This was no accident Gregg.”

“You’ve got my name ri...”

“It’s Sally.” Sherlock interrupted.

“What are you trying to say Sherlock? Someone tried to kill Sally?”

“No. Me. They were aiming for me, but Sally pushed me out of the way.”

“Give me the reg and details,” said Lestrade, pulling his notebook from his pocket.

“I didn’t see,” said Sherlock quietly.

“What? Nonsense. You see everything Sherlock, even what us mere mortals miss,”

“Sorry, Gregg, but the woman I love was having her head smashed into the road. I was somewhat occupied.” 

“You lo..” began Lestrade, but Sherlock walked past him, releasing the red blanket from his shoulders. Sally was being stretchered into the back of the ambulance and he was going to go too. 

“You can’t come sir,” said the paramedic, blocking his way.

“She’s my… she’s…,” stammered Sherlock.

“Yes sir, but she is in a bad way. We need to get to the hospital as soon as possible. She’ll need work in the ambulance and we can’t do that with you in there too. Follow on, one of the Police Officers will take you – we’re going to St Mary’s.” His colleague finished securing Sally into the back and climbed in. The paramedic slammed the door shut, raced to the front of the vehicle and set off at speed, sirens and lights flashing.

“We’ll need a statement Sherlock,” said Lestrade, walking up to Sherlock and placing his hand on his shoulder. Sherlock was oblivious to his words.

“She’s going to St Mary’s. Can you take me?” Sherlock looked pleadingly at Lestrade. 

“Sure, hop in. We’ll talk on the way.”

“I need to call John,” replied Sherlock, quietly, sitting in the passenger side of the car.

“Oh, yeah, here – someone handed me this, said it was yours. You’d dropped it as you’d gone to Sally,” said Lestrade, sitting in the car and putting his belt on. “Seat belt Sherlock.”

Sherlock absently mindedly fastened his belt and put a call through to John. John said he would meet him at St Mary’s and not to worry, but Sherlock couldn’t take that on board. He’d seen the extent of her injuries. Her left eye was dilated and that was a sign of a serious brain injury. She’d remained completely non-responsive when Sherlock was with her and her pulse was thready to say the least.

Sherlock arrived shortly after the ambulance but was not allowed into the trauma room with Sally. Instead, he sat helplessly in the waiting room, with his head hanging between his legs concentrating firmly on the floor between his feet. Lestrade sat beside him, drinking a coffee from a small brown plastic disposable cup. He stayed with him until John arrived, then made an excuse to leave. Sherlock did not notice either way. Time seemed to pass so slowly. It appeared hours before a doctor emerged from the trauma room, removing the mask covering his face. 

“Are you here for Miss Sally Tavistock?” he said, walking towards Sherlock. Sherlock stood up.

“Oh God, no, no,” muttered Sherlock under his breath.

“He is, hello – Dr John Watson,” said John, extending his arm and shaking the doctor’s hand. 

“This is Sherlock Holmes." 

“Can I ask how you are related to Sally?” enquired the doctor, turning to Sherlock.

“They live together,” replied John. He felt that this wasn’t entirely a lie. “He witnessed the whole thing, I think he is in shock,” he continued. “Do you have some news?”

“Yes, please follow me,” the doctor gesticulated towards a side room. Sherlock resumed mumbling protestations. This could not be good news. John guided him into the room and sat next to him on the sofa.

“Sally has experienced a massive trauma to her head and abdomen. She has quite a significant brain injury and has some severe internal bleeding. It has taken us quite a while to stabilise her for surgery, although we have managed that and she is being operated on as we speak." He paused to look at Sherlock, who glanced up from staring at the floor to look at him.

“She is still alive?” he choked.

“Yes, however I am sure I don’t need to point out just how important the next few hours are, I must warn you that there is a concern that she may not survive the surgery, although without it she would certainly die. You must prepare yourself I am afraid, she does not have a good prognosis.”

Sherlock sniffed and wiped his nose with the back of his hand. “No, she’ll be fine. She tough. She’ll come through this,” he said.

“I do have some additional news,” said the doctor. Sherlock looked at him inquisitively. 

“We have been unable to save the baby I’m afraid. Sally’s injuries were far too extensive.”

“Baby?” ask John. Sherlock looked at the doctor blankly.

“Yes. Approximately 10 weeks. According to her hospital notes, she had been for a scan on the 24th November following some spotting, but an ultrasound had revealed that all was well with the embryo. Her due date was the 19th July. You did know she was pregnant?”

Sherlock let out a small wail and John scooted closer to him, placing his arm over his shoulder.

“It’s OK mate,” he said, squeezing his arm with his free hand.

“I’ll give you some time,” replied the doctor, standing to leave. “I’ll let you know as soon as she is out of surgery.” He left the room.

“She was pregnant?” choked Sherlock, turning his head to look to John. “She hated me that much that she couldn’t tell me?”

“You were an arse Sherlock, what did you expect? Thought you said you used protection?” replied John taking out his phone and looking at the calendar. He began counting back the weeks. “The dates tally with your liaison.”

“I hope you aren’t implying that she was sleeping around. And I didn’t answer the question, but she was on the pill," answered Sherlock, incensed at John’s aspersions towards Sally’s character. He stood up and paced the room.

“And she spent most of that week throwing up because she was either dunk or drugged up. By you,” said John. “Stops oral contraception from being as effective,”

“I was going to be a father,” said Sherlock, pausing. “Do you think she’d’ve told me?”

“Probably. She would’ve been able to have hidden it forever. How come you didn’t notice? You diagnosed Mary before even she knew!”

“I suppose, in retrospect, the signs were there. I’d heard her throwing up in school, she was constantly tired and she looked pale, but I figured it was just stress. She was tired, but so was I. Teaching isn’t as easy as it looks - it isn't babysitting,” replied Sherlock. He cursed himself. How could he have been so stupid? He’d wasted so long trying to get Sally out of his head and now, more than anything, he wanted her back in it.

The minutes turned into hours as Sherlock and John waited for the doctor to return. Dawn came and still no news. Sherlock took this as good news – Sally was holding her own in the surgery. Finally, there came a knock on the door.


	21. Our Child

Sherlock looked up expectantly at the doctor as he walked into the room, tracking him with his eyes as he pulled up a chair. He desperately tried to read something from the doctor’s face, anything that might give him an indication into Sally’s condition but there was nothing. For the first time in his life, or so it felt, he was devoid of his ability to deduce.

“Sally is out of surgery, she survived. I have to say, that in itself was quite a miracle considering her injuries. The next 48 hours are critical,” said the doctor, sitting down on a chair beside Sherlock. 

Sherlock let out a huge sigh, the stress and tension of the past few hours being exhaled in one breath. “Thank you, thank you!” said Sherlock, grasping and shaking the doctor’s hand with both of his. “Can I see her?”

“Briefly. You must not stay for long, she is in intensive care. I will warn you – she will not be recognisable. She has been intubated and has lots of sensors. She has had part of her head shaved and there is a shunt into her skull to release pressure. She is also quite bruised in the face. She won’t be responsive due to the medication – we have had to put her into a medically induced coma as we need her to be fully stabilised before we begin bringing her around.”

“Thank you,” said Sherlock, gathering his coat and scarf from the chair beside him and making his way out of the room.

“Doctor, can I just ask?” began John. Sherlock turned. “The baby, I mean – the miscarriage. Were there any complications?”< /p>

The doctor turned towards Sherlock, as if to ask permission to answer the question. Sherlock nodded.

“Er, no – as far as we can tell. The miscarriage was completed with a D&C and her uterus and ovaries seemed normal on ultrasound, though we will need to carry out further scans. There should not be any reason why she should not be able to conceive again, providing she recovers from her other injuries. As I said, the next 48 hours are crucial.”

“The gender of the baby…” began Sherlock.

“In determined, I’m afraid due to gestation. We do have the products of conception – we have a burial service that we can discuss when it is appropriate. We could identify the gender based upon a simple genetic test but we do not do that routinely on the NHS, not until the 3rd miscarriage, to see if it has any bearing on the cause. In this case, it didn’t. The miscarriage was as a result of the blunt force trauma.”

"Products of conception?" Began Sherlock. 

“Unfortunate medical jargon Sherlock," John, looking toward his friend. "But it can be done privately,” he continued, looking at the doctor. “Please do so, I think it may help with the healing process. I’ll personally cover any costs. As a favour from one doctor to another,”

“I’ll see what I can do,” nodded the doctor. “Let me show you where to go, Mr Holmes.”

“I’ll leave you here, I’ve got to get back to Mary. Give me a call if you need anything,” said John. 

“Thank you,” mouthed Sherlock, shaking John by the hand before following the doctor down the corridor.

Despite the doctor’s warning, Sherlock was still shocked at Sally’s appearance; barely recognisable underneath the wires and tubes that criss-crossed her body. He walked towards her and sat down at the chair beside her. He gently picked up her left hand and held it in his palm, taking care not to knock the IV line in her hand. Just as the doctor had warned, Sally did not respond.

“Sally, I am so sorry,” was all he could muster before his body heaved into great sobs. 

“Urgh. Public displays of affection is it now Sherlock? The rumours that you have even managed to say the L word must be true. How every touching, Mummy will be pleased,” said Mycroft, dryly. Sherlock turned sharply.

“Now is not the time,” spat Sherlock.

“Oh, I think now is exactly the right time, brother dearest.”

Sherlock gently lowered Sally hand back to the bed. He leant down and kissed her on the forehead and whispered in her ear. He stood and left the room, with Mycroft following behind.

“We, of course, found out about the incident outside Park Hill School. Imagine my surprise, little brother, to hear that you were involved.”

“What do you want, Mycroft?”

“I thought you would like to know. We traced the car quite easily on CCTV and followed it through the city. It was discovered on wasteland in the early hours this morning, a burnt-out shell. There was a David Ormston behind the steering wheel, or rather the bones and ashes of a David Ormston where the steering wheel used to be. I believe you knew him?”

“Yes, he was the caretaker at the school. Left earlier in the evening. I had my suspicions about him all along!”

“Unfortunately, the vehicle in question was also snapped by a speed camera 3 minutes after impact and whilst the picture is not clear, what is obvious is the driver is a clearly different body shape to the rotund Mr Ormston,” continued Mycroft.

“A quick look into his financial affairs indicated a substantial, regular payment into his bank account on the 1st every month for the past 3 months. Unusual considering his pay was awarded on the 15th. It would seem he was blackmailing someone and took it a step too far. Unfortunately, he was more meticulous with this phone record than he was with his eating habits. We have, as yet, been unable to identify who he was blackmailing.”

Sherlock listened carefully to what Mycroft was saying. If this was the case then his presence in school was causing issue too – he was clearly meant to have been the intended victim. However, he could not focus on this right now, he was needed with Sally and for the first time, that was OK.

“Oh God, you are thinking about her, aren’t you?” sneered Mycroft.

“Shut it, Mycroft. Yes – I am thinking about her. She could die, Mycroft. Die. For once in my life I have found something worth my time. More important than my time, actually.”

Mycroft looked at Sherlock with a mixture of pity and disgust. “Very well, little brother. I suppose even you need to get it out of your system.” Sherlock paused momentarily, contemplating reply. It seemed pointless responding.

Aside for popping home once to shower and change, due to being caked in Sally’s blood, Sherlock did not leave her beside. He was determined to be there when she woke. On the third day, the breathing tube had been removed and the doctor decided that it was time to reduce the sedation, to see if she could come around and to fully assess the brain injury. Sherlock was sat beside her, stroking her hand as her eyes flickered open. 

“Don’t try to talk Sally; you are in hospital, squeeze my hand if you understand,” hushed Sherlock, folding his hand into Sally’s, still being mindful of the IV attached to her hand. Sally seemed to register the words that he was saying and he felt the slightest pressure on his hand. Sherlock looked up at the doctor who was stood at the foot of the bed. “Shall I explain?” he asked him, the doctor nodded.

“Keep it brief,” said the nurse at his side. 

Sherlock began to unfold some of the events of the evening, keeping it to the very basics to avoid undue stress. Sally squeezed his hand periodically to indicate she understood. When Sherlock had finished, she turned her eyes towards him, moving as best as she could.

“Baby,” she croaked.

Sherlock looked up towards the doctor, who motioned a ‘yes’ to Sherlock.

“He wasn’t strong enough, I’m so sorry,” said Sherlock, his voice cracking.

“He?” asked Sally.

“Yes. We were having a little boy, Sally.” Sherlock had been told the news early that morning and had spent the entire day thinking about what could have been. He could only imagine the heartbreak that Sally was feeling considering she’d known about the baby for some time, but now wasn’t the time for that. A small tear had formed in Sally’s eye and Sherlock wiped it carefully.

“Sorry,” whispered Sally.

“I think we need to leave Miss Tavistock to get some rest,” said the doctor. “Mr Holmes, perhaps I can have a private word?”

Sherlock kissed Sally on the forehead and got up to leave. He turned back to look at her before he following the doctor out of the room.

The meeting with the doctor went through several formalities. It seemed, so the doctor thought, very positive so far. Sally had demonstrated reasonable cognitive function while talking to Sherlock. The fact that she’d shown emotion when learning of the death of her baby also showed that she was working on a higher level that they had first feared. She would, however, need intensive physiotherapy. Miraculously, beyond severe bruising, her spine had not received injury in the accident and all tests completed so far indicated full feeling in her lower limbs. It was fortunate, the doctor noted, that she lived with Sherlock, as she would need assistance with many things to start off with. Her internal organs had received a battering and therefore she was liable to tire easily. It was unlikely that she would be returning to work for several months.


	22. The L word

The Christmas holiday passed without mark; Sally’s recovery continued slowly but surely. She began to look forward to Sherlock’s daily visits and she was soon strong enough to have full conversations with him.

“I think I have bought the correct bag,” said Sherlock, putting the bag on Sally’s lap and leaning in for a kiss. 

“Thank you,” replied Sally. She began to reach into the bag and feebly pulled an A4 plastic wallet from it. Out of breath at the effort of it all, she opened the popper on the front of the wallet and pulled out a green, A4 booklet. ‘Pregnancy Notes’ Sherlock read to himself. He wasn’t sure he was ready for this conversation. Sally must’ve read his mind.

“We need to talk about it at some point, Sherlock,” said Sally. 

“I know, but perhaps when you are better...” he began.

“I didn’t tell you because I didn’t know how you would react. I would’ve told you. In fact, if things hadn’t worked out the way that they did that night, the way things were going, I probably would’ve told you then,” she replied , the effort of the conversation being seen in her laboured breathing.

“It’s OK, Sally, honestly.”

“I need to talk about it Sherlock. It’s all that I have left of him.”

Sherlock reached forward and squeezed her hand. “Talk about him as much as you want, I’ll listen,” he said. 

“I found out I was pregnant the week before the inspection. I was late, took a test and there it was.”

“Did you plan on keeping the baby?” Sherlock asked but immediately regretted it – Sally looked hurt. “Sorry, I’m sorry. That was crass.”

“It’s OK. Reasonable to ask really. I was. I figured I would probably move back home – not that there is any family back there anymore, but I have friends who would help.”

“You were that certain I wouldn’t want to know?” asked Sherlock, looking at the ground.

“Well, yes. After the way you rejected me after we… I just presumed.”

“I don’t blame you for that deduction. But I would’ve supported you,”

Sally looked at Sherlock in the eyes, she could tell he was being sincere. She reached inside the folder and slowly pulled out a small black and white photo. There, in the centre, was a small white dot. She passed it to Sherlock. “I had a small bleed, threatened miscarriage they called it, so I had a scan. That’s why I left school early on the 24th.”

“That’s him?” said Sherlock.

“That’s him. William. At least, that is the name I had thought for a boy. Hadn’t really got a girl’s name. Perhaps I subconsciously knew.”

“William. That would have been a perfect name,” said Sherlock, staring at the image in front of him. He squeezed Sally’s hand and leant in to kiss her. She kissed him back, holding onto the back of his neck. They paused, resting their foreheads on each other. “I love you, Sherlock.”

Sherlock smiled and squeezed Sally's hand. "Lie down, you need to rest. I don't want to wear you out." replied Sherlock, removing the documents from Sally's lap and helping adjust the pillows. He leant down and gently kissed her forehead. "See you tomorrow, get some rest," he said before pausing and adding, “I love you too.” He walked out of the room, closing the door behind him. He paused. This was a lot for him to take in and he wasn't sure he was comfortable with the speed at which things were happening or the feelings he was having. He felt decidedly uneasy.  


	23. Nothing

Four weeks after the accident, Sally was fit enough to be able to leave the hospital. Sherlock had decided that it would be best for Sally to move directly into 221b so he could keep an eye on her. He had ‘resigned’ his post at the school, his position now being compromised after the news reports following the accident. He was concerned, however, that there was still a double murderer at large.

Sherlock had tried his best to make his flat presentable, but even still Mrs. Hudson had to lend a considerable hand. Sally had been impressed with the efforts when she walked through the door, possibly most impressed with the kitchen which seemed a lot more kitchen like and a lot less ‘science experiment’. She was relieved to find out that Mrs. Hudson had prepared dinner for that evening and had even made a few batches for the freezer– she wasn’t quite prepared to run the gauntlet of Sherlock’s cooking just yet. The first day passed less awkwardly than she had imagined living with Sherlock would. John and Mary had popped by briefly to make sure all was well and Mrs. Hudson had been in and out all day. Finally, they were alone. It was 8 o’clock.

“Sherlock, I’m exhausted. I’m going to need to go to bed,” said Sally, manoeuvring herself from the sofa. Sherlock, who had been typing on his laptop, got up and helped her to her feet.

“Could you just help me up the stairs?” she asked.

“Er, I thought you could sleep in my room,” began Sherlock.

“Oh, I, er…” began Sally.

“Oh, no! I meant, I would take John’s room upstairs. My room is right next to the bathroom – I thought you might find it easier in the night if you needed to…”

“That’s very sweet Sherlock, thank you.”

Sherlock smiled and rested Sally’s left arm over his shoulder and put his right hand around her waist. They walked, like this towards Sherlock’s bedroom, where he placed her gently on the bed. She was already in her nightwear – Mrs. Hudson helping Sally change on one of her many visits. She probably did not need this level of help, but she wasn’t about to stop Sherlock when he was behaving in this manner. She was sure it would not last. 

“Good night, Sally,” said Sherlock, kissing her on the forehead and walking towards the door.

“You don’t have to, you know,” said Sally. Sherlock turned to look at her. “Sleep in John’s room. You could sleep in here too.”

Sherlock paused and thought for a moment. Sally could see his mind working. “Or not. I don’t mind. Whatever,” she added, looking away.

Sherlock walked towards the bed, sat beside Sally and kissed her gently. 

It wasn’t long before Sally was sound asleep, lying in Sherlock’s arms. Sherlock couldn’t help but watch her sleep – she looked so peaceful.

It was soon morning. Sally woke to find Sherlock nestled into her, with his arm wrapped tightly around her. He was still dressed. He clearly hadn’t moved for fear of disturbing her. She wriggled herself free of his arm and slid out of bed, padding lightly across the bedroom floor, so as not to wake him. She went into the bathroom and brushed her teeth. Mrs. Hudson had been helpful enough to bring up all of her necessities the day before. She was mid brush when she heard her name being shouted. She poked her head round the bathroom door just as Sherlock came skidding across the bedroom floor. She went back into the bathroom and rinsed the toothpaste from her mouth.

“What’s up? Everything OK?” asked Sally.

“I thought…” began Sherlock.

“I’m fine. Good morning,” replied Sally.

Sherlock smiled, “Morning,” he answered and leant in, giving her a kiss. Sally responded passionately and moved her hands towards his firm backside. Sherlock felt himself go hard. 

“I want you, Sherlock,” said Sally. That was all the encouragement he needed, he swept her into his arms and carried her back into the bedroom.

Laying over her, on the bed, Sherlock looked Sally in the eyes. “Are you sure you are up to this?” he asked. “I can wait.”

“I can’t,” replied Sally, arching her head up and kissing Sherlock, whilst removing the shirt from his back. Sherlock moved his hands down and eased off her Pyjama bottoms and the knickers she had on underneath. Sally, by this time, was undoing his belt and removed it, with one swift movement. Sherlock stood and unbuttoned his trousers, easing both those and his boxer shorts off, releasing his erect penis. Sherlock moved his hands between Sally’s legs and explored her with his fingers. She was so wet. He gently stroked her as Sally removed her top, arching her back in pleasure. 

“I’ve not been taking my pill,” breathed Sally. Sherlock paused, reached across to his bedside table and pulled out a condom. He ripped open the small foil packet and slipped the sheath onto his firm cock. Sally positioned herself on the bed, her legs open, ready to receive his full length. Sherlock entered her in one swift movement and then paused.

“Are you OK? Does it hurt?” he asked.

“No, it’s good,” said Sally, moaning with pleasure. Sherlock continued to move inside her, moving gently and taking his full weight on his arms. It wasn’t long before both climaxed, holding onto each other tightly as they came. 

Breathless, Sally lay in Sherlock arms, resting her head against his bare chest. Sherlock stroked the small of her back and smiled. 

“What are you thinking Sherlock?” asked Sally.

“Nothing. For the first time in my life – nothing.”


	24. A Familiar Face

Sherlock and Sally continued in this manner over the next few weeks. For a man who had described sex as frivolous, he certainly did enjoy participating in a large quantity of it. Considering the frequency of visitors to Baker Street, it was remarkable that no one had caught them in the act, particularly as Sherlock’s attitude to home security remained very laissez-faire and the door to 221b remained open to clients, which made Sherlock and Sally having sex on the kitchen island almost as risky as having sex in his chair. It did, however, make things that little extra spicy. 

They had been living together for six weeks when the bickering began. By the end forth week the novelty of being in each other’s pocket had begun to wear thin and by week five it had positively worn off. Whilst their sex life was still going strong, arguments over which way the toilet paper should fall and exactly how many thumbs it was acceptable to store in the freezer began to take their toll. Sherlock and Sally came to the mutual agreement that, if their relationship was to survive, they needed to live apart. Sally’s injuries had practically healed and she had been discharged from physio. Her progress had astounded the consulting team at the hospital and it was felt that she might be able to begin a phased return to work in a few weeks’ time. There was therefore no reason why she couldn’t resume living at 221c.

Whilst Sherlock could not deny his feelings towards Sally, he could not ignore his desire to solve crimes. Thinking ‘nothing’ had been enjoyable at the time, perhaps even something of a relief, but it was not something he was prepared to become accustomed to. The police had got no further with the hit and run and he had not had much time for investigating in between nursing and screwing Sally. It infuriated him that he’d been distracted but was reassured that she was at least safe when she was sharing his bed.

As his employment at the school terminated following the incident, which came as both a blessing and a hindrance, perhaps he’d be able to get Sally to do some detective work for him? She could be his new protégé - a female John. But therein lay the problem – he couldn’t risk her getting hurt again. This was why he swore off relationships. Then again, there was the sex to consider. Perhaps it was worth persevering for? Whilst sex had been frivolous in the past, there was something different about what he was doing with Sally. He had often mused, in the last few weeks, that this must be what it feels like to be ‘ordinary.’

The new set up suited Sally well – she had the best of both worlds. Her own space, with passionate sex at her beck and call. She was aware of Sherlock’s conflicting emotions and was happy to give him the space he needed. Living in such proximity had been hard work and she too was quite keen to have the person who almost killed her put behind bars. She was not looking forward to returning to work, even if it was on a programme of phased return. The academy had replaced her role in Year 6, which Sally felt was understandable. An important year required stability and so, with Sally’s recovery time being anticipated to be much longer than reality, it made sense to put in someone in her class that could carry the children through the SAT’s. She was relieved to escape the pressure. Sally was to return to 5M, Tina’s class. She could refocus them after the unsettling time that they had and would then take them up into year 6 in September, although she did not relish teaching in the classroom in which someone had been murdered. Many thought that the school was wrong to keep the room in use, but financially, there was no other option. Still, that was another week away and she was going to enjoy all the time she had left.

She was busying herself in the kitchen of 221c, making a romantic dinner for herself and Sherlock, when there was a knock at the door.

“Let yourself in, it’s open,” she shouted up the stairs, before returning the kitchen to turn down the hob. She poured two glasses of wine and carried them from the kitchen.

“I’ve missed you, handsome!” she said, not looking up as she walked into the room.

“Me too, babes,” replied a voice that was definitely not Sherlock’s. The voice owner reached out and took a glass of wine from Sally’s outstretched, motionless hands.

Sally stared open mouthed, not knowing what to say. 

“It’s not like you to have nothing to say Sal.”

“What the fucking fuck are you doing here?” 

“Still have a beautiful way with words baby doll. Your landlady let me in.”

“I don’t just mean the mechanics of getting inside the house dickhead. I mean in London. There was a reason I moved 200 miles from you Nick.” 

“Nick? As in your ex-boyfriend Nick?” It was Sherlock. In the commotion, Sally hadn’t heard him come in. He walked around Nick and stood beside Sally.

“I didn’t know he was coming down Sherlock, honestly,” replied Sally, turning to face Sherlock.

“Yet you’ve given him a drink,” remarked Sherlock, dryly. 

“I didn’t give him a drink – he just helped himself,” said Sally, putting down her glass. “I can’t cope with this. Sherlock – can you give us 10 minutes? I’ll find out what he wants and send him packing.”

“You are asking me to leave?” Sherlock sounded surprised, indeed a little hurt.

“Nice to have met you,” smirked Nick.

“Please, Sherlock. Just ten minutes – then I’ll come up to yours; we can have dessert first,” replied Sally, giving him a little wink. The prospect did nothing to appease his feelings towards being removed from the room but he did leave, staring at Nick as he went. Sally could tell he was information gathering.

Sally turned to Nick and folded her arms. “How’s Tara?” she said, markedly. 

“Oh yeah. She’s…er…she’s good.”

“She knows you’re here?”

“We don’t tell each other every little thing.”

“That’s a no then. Wonder what she’d say? What do you want Nick?”

“We were together for 5 years Sal. When I heard about what had happened…”

“6 years tosser. And how did you hear?”

“Megan.” 

“Terrific,” said Sally, rolling her eyes. “Mental note not to share anything with her again. Well, look – you can see I’m fine so you can just trot on.”

“No can do babes – here on business so going to be around for a few days, maybe a week. Look - let’s not be bitter about things Sal. I know I hurt you pretty badly, but it is in the past – you’ve obviously moved on judging by the wine and the smell from the kitchen. Beef Wellington – still your go to meal then? Not surprised though, you were bloody good at it.” He moved closer towards Sally. “Not the only thing you were bloody good at I seem to remember,” he continued, picking up her hand and squeezing it. Sally shook herself free. “Sorry – what would Skeletor say?”

“It’s Sherlock.”

“Yeah. I was referring to the cheek bones. Not really your type is it Sal?”

“I happen to like his cheek bones. Why on earth do you think he’s not my type? No – don’t answer that. I’m not getting into this with you. You’ve seen me, I’m fine, good bye,” said Sally, ushering Nick out the flat. 

“Alright, I’ll leave, but I will need to come back. I need to talk to you about something. I’m staying at the Straza,” he gave Sally a peck on the cheek and dashed up the stairs, two at a time.

Sally slumped down on the sofa, not sure at what had just happened.


	25. Deduce Me

“So. What was that about?” asked Sherlock, returning to Sally’s flat, not long after Nick had left.

“God knows Sherlock. You tell me; I saw you looking at him as you left the flat,” said Sally, rising off the sofa. “What do you deduce?”

“He wants to get back with you. He’s stepped up his self-care regime, there was lotion behind his left ear. He is wearing the cologne you bought him, not because it is his regular one but because he wants you to be impressed. It causes him to have a rash and wouldn’t wear it for any reason other than to impress you. His suit was new, the jacket still had a small plastic tie tag attached to the back. He’d cleaned his shoes on the back of his trouser leg before he walked it… do I need to continue?”

“Even if that is the case, which I highly doubt, it doesn’t mean I’d want to get back with him,” said Sally, reaching out her arm to touch Sherlock’s. He pulled away and walked into the kitchen, fiddling with the buttons on the hob.

“You seriously think I’d prefer him over you?” Said Sally, following him.

“You were together for 6 years. You still cook his favourite meal.”

“It’s the only decent meal I know how to cook! It is you I have been trying to impress!”

“I thought you were over that in the third week when you went back to wearing your normal underwear?”

“Have a day off will you?” she snapped. “Just leave it!” she said, moving him out of the way and taking back control of the bubbling pans on the hob. A faint burnt whiff filled the air.

“For fuck sakes!” Sally cried, opening the oven door and wafting plumes of thick smoke out of the way and grabbing at the dish inside. At this point the smoke detector went off and Sally slammed the now ‘very well done’ beef wellington onto the counter as Sherlock pressed the reset button on the alarm. He walked back into the kitchen.

“No longer your ‘go to meal’ then,” he observed, glancing over the dish.

“So not a bloody deduction then – you were listening,” sniped Sally, throwing the pan of potatoes into the sink. She screamed and let out another expletive. She turned on the cold tap and proceeded to hold her left hand under it.

“Let me see,” said Sherlock, walking over and inspecting her hand. “Just a small scold. Keep it under the tap for 10 minutes, you’ll be fine.”

“Yes, thank you nurse. I can manage.”

Sherlock threw the tea towel he’d picked up into the sink. “Fine,” he snapped and walked out, slamming the door to the 221c as he huffed out of the flat.

“Oh my God!!” shouted Sally, turning off the tap and running up the stairs, following Sherlock. She caught up with him just as he got to the door of his own flat.

“Don’t walk away from me!” She shouted.

Sherlock twisted around and frowned. “I told you ten minutes.” He grabbed her uninjured arm and walked her to the sink in his kitchen. He turned the tap on and moved to the side.  
Sally put her arm underneath the cooling cascade and sighed. 

“We shouldn’t lie to each other Sally. I understand you still having feelings for him.”

“And we should trust one another!”

“I do trust you Sally.”

“Really? Listening outside my door shows an immense amount of trust,” she scoffed.

“It was him I didn’t trust, and with good reason as I pointed out.”

Sally removed her arm from the water. “Ok. So, you’ve told me why you don’t trust him, so tell me how you’ve concluded that I still have feelings for him.”

“You still have 6 minutes left.”

“My hand was going numb. Don’t avoid the question – what possible indication have I given you that I still have the hots for him. Deduce me.”

Sherlock stared at Sally and then turned away.

“What?” said Sally, irritation in her voice.

“Nothing.”

“What do you mean, ‘nothing’? Come on – you are the great Sherlock Holmes. Deduce me.”

Sherlock walked slowly towards Sally. His eyes not moving from hers. He moved his hands to hers and took them into his grasp, taking care not to touch the red mark that was emblazoned across her left hand. “I can’t deduce you. Not anymore. After you hit the ground on that night, everything I have ever been able to read about you has gone.”

“Why?”

“That was the night that I almost lost you. When I realised what I could be losing. My deductions have never made me popular Sally, perhaps this is my minds way of safeguarding your feelings for me. To stop me becoming unpopular with you. I don’t know. I haven’t experienced this before.” Sherlock broke his gaze and looked to the ground, his soft curls covering his eyes.

“Deduce this,” replied Sally, tilting her head and leaning up. She softly kissed Sherlock’s lips twice before kissing him passionately. Sherlock’s hands moved to her head and he held onto the side of her face, responding to her touch and kissing her passionately. He moved Sally towards the kitchen counter and swiped the surface clear of petri dishes and papers. Sally reached down to his trouser button as Sherlock turned his attention to removing Sally's trousers and knickers before lifting her onto the counter surface. Spreading her legs, Sherlock entered Sally with one swift movement, thrusting quickly and causing Sally to groan in pleasure whilst holding on to the cabinet to steady herself. With one final thrust, both Sherlock and Sally came in a fuzzy haze of pleasure.


	26. Mine's Bigger

“Good morning,” Sherlock leant over to Sally, the sheets rustling, and kissed her on the forehead.

“Mmm,” Sally murmured. “What a lovely way to wake up.” She smiled and sat up in bed.

“I’ve bought you breakfast.” Sherlock slid a tray containing orange juice and a few slices of toast toward Sally. 

“You not having anything?” asked Sally, tucking in.

“Not this morning. Lestrade phoned earlier, he has another case. I am meeting him at Scotland Yard with John,” said Sherlock, pulling on some socks before stepping into his immaculately pressed Spencer Hart suit. Sally enjoyed watching him dress almost as much as she enjoyed watching him get undressed. 

“Another case? What about the...”

“Yes, Yes... it's a work in progress. This is just a little one to fill in. What are you doing?” interrupted, before grimacing. Sally noticed.

“Small talk is OK, Sherlock. Even highly intelligent people can make small talk. I am surprised you have to ask though. It’s Saturday.”

Sherlock smoothed down his jacket collar. “Of course,” he replied, bending down and planting another kiss on Sally’s forehead. Pre-accident, Saturday was planning day; Sally would be locked away making sure that her lessons were outstanding for the week ahead. With her return to work looming, Sally needed to get back into the routine. “You aren’t back for another week yet, perhaps have the day off?” said Sherlock.

“I’ve had the past goodness knows how long off. Besides – with the phased return, I only need to do a few days’ worth. The more I get done before I get back full time, the better. Means I’ll be able to spend some of the weekend with you rather than my laptop.”

“Sounds good,” remarked Sherlock as he left the bedroom. Sally wasn’t convinced he’d actually listened to what she’d said but he had at least recognised she’d spoken! The door to 221b shut and Sally moved the breakfast tray to the empty side of the bed. She retrieved her clothes that had been so quickly discarded the night before and dressed. Whilst she felt comfortable and at home at 221b, she preferred to shower at her own place.

Picking up the last piece of toast from the plate, Sally carried the tray and placed it by the kitchen sink. She toyed with the idea of doing the washing up but it was very hard to establish in Sherlock’s kitchen what was a dirty dish and what was some form of experiment. They had once not spoken to each other for two days because she’d washed up a plate that he'd actually required to disprove a feature of interest in one of his crazy cases.

Sally shut the door behind her and walked down the stairs, careful not to hit the creaky steps on the way down. Whilst Mrs. Hudson knew of their relationship, she did look down her nose at them on the occasions that she had seen them slipping out of whoever’s flat they had decided to sleep in. She’d almost made it to the door of her flat, when Mrs. Hudson opened hers.

“Stayed at Sherlock’s, dear?” asked Mrs. Hudson, holding a large bunch of flowers.

“Yes Mrs. Hudson. Ooh, they are lovely flowers,” replied Sally, nodding towards the bouquet, trying to change the subject.

“Oh, these arrived about half an hour ago for you dearie. There was no reply so I took them in. I should probably have guessed that you were in Sherlock’s bed. Not that it is any of my business, I’m just your landlady.” Mrs. Hudson handed over the flowers and shut the door. Sally smiled. Mrs. Hudson was a funny lady, very traditional. She smelt the flowers – yellow roses. Her favourite. She’d, of course, never mentioned this fact to Sherlock; he must’ve deduced it when he was still able. For all his protestations that he didn’t like the nuances of a relationships, such as small talk, he was still rather good at them - as the flowers proved. 

She walked down the stairs into her flat and absentmindedly removed the card from the bouquet. She lay the flowers on the work surface and opened the envelope. She read the card and froze. ‘It was great seeing you again, Nick xx’

“Terrific. That’s all I need,” said Sally, picking up the flowers and stuffing them in the bin. She picked up her phone and sent a quick message to Sherlock.

‘Guess you were right. Nick sent me flowers this morning. Have binned them. Sally xx’ Before she could put the phone down, a reply came through. Quickly followed by others.

‘Can’t talk. Working. SH’  
‘Flowers? SH’  
‘Yellow roses? SH’  
‘Note? SH’  
‘Why did you have to tell him about the flowers? He’s completely lost it. John’

Sally couldn’t help but smile at the replies – perhaps a little jealousy was a good thing. Sherlock could get so engrossed with his work and his logic could often stop him from showing his romantic side, which did surface on rare occasion. This was probably the closest he could get to a sign of affection, although the fact that he was able to share his time with her and his work was also a pretty significant thing for Sherlock. That smile was soon wiped off her face though. 

“They’ll look better in a vase. Nick xx”

Sally almost dropped her phone. How could he possibly know she threw the flowers away? She ran to the window and tried to peek up to the street above. She drew the curtains and quickly typed out a reply.

‘Where are you?’  
‘The Straza babes xx’  
‘How did you know I’d tossed them?’  
‘It’s what you always did when we argued. Didn’t need to be Sherlock Holmes to work that one out. I need to see you xxx’  
‘Piss off’  
‘It is serious’ xxx

Sally tossed the phone onto the sofa. This was the last thing she needed. She’d been putting on a brave front to Sherlock, but she was dreading going back to work. Sherlock had done quite a good job of keeping the details of the night of the Christmas Party to himself but he hadn’t reasoned on Sally reading John’s blog. She’d never really been bothered with it but, when faced with time on her hands, Sally found herself reading up on his old cases and had stumbled across “The Christmas ‘bash’, by Dr John H Watson”...

I have blocked out names for legal reasons  
The night of the 23rd December was a night to remember for a variety of reasons. It was a night when my friend, Sherlock Holmes, almost died but was reborn.  
He had been working undercover at XXX school on the hunt of the ‘teacher slayer’ a case that had had him baffled for weeks. He had formed am unlikely interest in one of the teachers, Miss X, and had attended the function in the capacity of being able to discover the culprit in a less formal setting.  
The evening had continued as one might expect such an occasion to be - drunk dancing, singing and general peculiar behaviour of the over worked and underpaid but finished with a car hurtling towards him which would certainly have knocked him down had it not been for the plucky actions of Miss X.  
The car was to be later found abandoned on wasteland with the burnt remains of the school caretaker. Little remained of the body; the identification only being possible through the melted remains of a blonde mullet wig he had worn previously in the evening and, of course, the faithful dental records. With the body being burnt beyond recognition, it was only after the inspection of his abode that it was found that his tongue had been cut from his head prior to the body being torched in the car. CCTV images conformed that the car responsible for almost ending the life of Sherlock Holmes had been driven by another individual. The tongue being removed (and pinned to the noticeboard in his kitchen) is a symbolic gesture, not to dissimilar to the dismemberment that occurred to the teacher who had died a few months previously and Sherlock stated that it was suggestive of the fact that he knew too much, being pinned to the noticeboard as a warning to others. This vile killer remains on the loose with the police no closer to an answer, particularly as Sherlock has become too close to the case to see a solution.  
This leads me into how Sherlock Holmes has been reborn. Whilst he almost lost his life that night, he gained a reason to live – the love of Miss X.

COMMENTS (7)

Do you realise how pathetic this makes me sounds? SH  
I could easily solve this case. SH  
Miss X makes her sound like an adult actress SH  
What if Sally reads this? SH  
I meant Miss X. Delete the previous comment John. SH  
In fact, just delete the post. SH  
John? SH

Sally did not confess to reading the article to Sherlock but all the same it filled her with a certain amount of fear. The killer was now a serial killer and what if they weren’t done? There was clearly something going on within that academy that was so serious people were being permanently shut up about it. Sherlock didn’t seem too worried though and had been positively encouraging her to return to work. As much as she didn’t like the idea, she trusted him. If he wasn't worried, she shouldn't be either. At that moment, the buzzer to the flat sounded.

“Sally Tavistock?” came an unknown voice through the speaker.

“I’ll come up,” Sally replied and made her way out of her flat and into the lobby of 221. She opened the front door and was greeted by quite possibly the largest bouquet of flowers she’d ever seen.

“Is there a card?” she asked. The florist tilted the bouquet towards Sally so she could see the envelope. Sally removed it and read the card. A smile crept across her face.

‘I bet mine is bigger ; ) SH’

This was certainly true!


	27. Are You There?

The texts from Nick had remained a constant feature of Sally’s last full week at home and she was thankful of the fact that Lestrade’s latest case had kept Sherlock busy - she couldn't face another argument with him over Nick. 

In fact Sally had barely seen Sherlock and, when she did, he was deep in thought; he seemed completely pre-occupied. Sally would spend the evenings nestled on his sofa reading whilst Sherlock sat in his chair at the other end of the room, lost in thought. Never once did he share his concerns nor did Sally ask. She did not want to be an interference in his work process. 

Sally cooked for them each evening but Sherlock barely ate, much to Sally’s annoyance. Sherlock only went to bed each evening at Sally’s insistence, but whilst she would fall asleep lying on his chest; Sherlock remained awake. Sally understood that Sherlock was very driven in his need to solve crime, but she worried about his lack of self-care when he became absorbed in a subject. Mary had warned Sally of this behaviour but she hadn’t quite believed it. Sherlock, it seemed, did not even notice that Sally was in his company, let alone that she was being harassed by her ex.

Whilst Sally had ignored the texts, equally something had stopped her from just blocking Nick’s number. As much as Sally understood Sherlock’s attention was directed towards his work and that she should not take it personally, she also missed the attention that he showed towards her in the first few weeks. 

“You look almost as deep in thought as him,” said John, as he came through the door of 221b on Thursday evening.

“What? Oh, hello John! How are you? Sorry – yes, just thinking about going back to work on Monday,” replied Sally.

“Gosh, really? That has come round quick. Are you ready?”

“As I’ll ever be,” sighed Sally. “Not sure you’ll get much out of him tonight. He’s not moved in 5 hours.” 

“Really? I’ve had over 20 texts, he called me over,” said John, looking puzzled. 

“Ah John!” announced Sherlock, jumping to his feel and grabbing his hat from the mantelpiece. “You are late but we can catch up. There has been a development,” he continued looping and tying a scarf around his neck. “Let’s go.” Sherlock grabbed his coat and darted down the stairs of 221b. He made no acknowledgement of Sally whatsoever.

John looked down the stair well and back towards Sally. Sally must’ve had a look of hurt across her face.

“Have I missed something?” asked John.

“If you have, so have I,” replied Sally, sighing. “You’d better go after him.” 

As if on cue, the call of “John!!” hollered up the stairs and the front door of the building was slammed shut.

“I’ll have a word,” said John who diligently followed Sherlock down the stairs.

As much as Sally knew Sherlock and all his foibles, she could not help but be hurt by Sherlock’s inability even to acknowledge her to say goodbye. She picked up her phone, put it in her pocket and walked out of the flat. She was not going to be in when he got back and would be making sure to use the bolt on her flat door that she added earlier on in the week, following the appearance of Nick in her flat. Not that he would notice her absence in his bed if he did not even notice her to say goodbye to.

Sally walked in through the front door and looked around her flat. The time spent in Sherlock’s company had caused her to let the housework slide a little. She sync’d her phone with the wireless speaker, flicked her way through the playlist and pressed play. ‘Supreme’ belted into life and Sally collected the hoover from the corner of the room. A little while later she felt her phone vibrate. Good old John, he’d’ve admonished Sherlock for his behaviour and this would be Sherlock’s apology. Maybe the bolt wouldn’t go on tonight after all. Sally switched on the light to the living room and took her phone out of her pocket. 

‘I’m leaving on Sunday. I know I’ve been a complete bastard, but I need to see you Sally. Nick x’

Sally walked into the kitchen and poured herself a large glass of wine. She walked back through into the bedroom and got undressed, before slipping into bed and turning on the TV. She took a sip of wine and picked up her phone. Still no message from Sherlock.

‘When?’ Sally stared at the screen and debated pressing send. Her mind then flicked back to earlier that evening. Sherlock had been silent for the whole time she’d been in his flat but the very second John had appeared, he’d sprung into life. Now she came to think of it, even the look on his face changed. She could quite see why, as Mary had explained, that Mrs. Hudson had thought the boys were dating when they first moved in. Perhaps that was why Mrs. Hudson seemed to look down her nose at them for sharing a bed – it wasn’t the fact they were having pre-martial sex she was bothered with; it was the fact that Sherlock was having it with a woman.

Message sent.


	28. Closure

Sally stood in front of the mirror and looked at her reflection. Not bad. She was damned sure that she was going to look her absolute best when she met up with Nick. She had no idea what was so urgent that he so desperately needed to see her but she was sure as hell going to look damn fine whilst she found out.

Sally had not mentioned the planned encounter with Nick to Sherlock, not that she’d seen him to tell. Sherlock had arrived back at 221b Baker Street in the early hours of Friday morning; 3.05am to be precise. Not that Sally would have admitted to waiting up. She had heard the taxi pulling up outside and listened carefully to the noise that then followed in the lobby. She wondered if he would attempt to go to her flat but she heard Sherlock walk up the stairs to his own. He took the stairs slowly, so whatever he and John had been investigating had clearly not gone the way that he had hoped. This fact was affirmed by the fact that the door to 221b was slammed firmly shut, followed by the unmistakable sound of gunshot into plaster. Sally contemplated getting out of bed and going to see him but soon took the thought off her mind. A little hard to get wouldn’t do Sherlock any harm.

Sally walked out of her flat and locked the door behind her, pausing briefly to hear sounds from the flat above. Nothing. A buzz on her phone alerted her to a taxi waiting outside and so she walked out onto the street. She paused again, this time looking up at the windows to 221b, perhaps expecting to see Sherlock glancing out of the window as he was prone to do. Nothing. Sally felt uneasy about the events of last night, there was something different about his behaviour. Through his admittance that he’d not been a virgin, Sally realised that he’d obviously been involved with women before, although she could not glean from him as to whether these were actual relationships, flings or one night stands. From the reactions of those around him to their relationship, she was erring on the fact that this was his first proper relationship. Either way, nothing had lasted long term and so perhaps he’d done his time with her. Then again, he had managed to tell her that he loved her – something that even his mother had barely heard him say. However, she’d not heard it come from his lips since leaving hospital. 

The journey to The Straza was a nervous one. Sally wondered what Nick had to say and how she would react. Sally looked at her phone. 

‘I’ll be in the lobby. Nick x’  
‘I’m 5 mins away. Sally xx”

“Damn,” she said out loud. She hadn’t meant the kisses. He’d read too much into that. Not much that she can do about it now.

The taxi arrived and Sally paid the driver. Sally looked up at the building in front of her. Alright, it wasn’t The Ritz, but it wasn't far off! Nick must be doing well for himself. Sally was pleased she’d decided to dress up as she feared she’d’ve been denied entrance otherwise. Sally walked towards the door and was greeted by a smartly dressed doorman who pulled open the door for her. As she walked through the door, Sally paused, almost turning and walking back out. Perhaps this wasn’t the smartest thing to do. 

“Sally!” cried Nick, raising from one of the settees in the main entrance and walking towards her. “Thank you for coming. I know I don’t deserve your time, but I had to see you,” he continued, giving her a peck on the cheek. He put his arm around her back and directed her towards the hotel bar. Sally did not protest and walked with him, her heels clicking on the fine marble floor.

“So, what was so urgent?” asked Sally, sitting down opposite Nick. He sat down too, placing two large cups of coffee on the table.

“After Megan told me about your accident, I was shocked and ashamed. Ashamed at the way that I had treated you. I was a complete prick.” There was a silence as he took a sip of his coffee. “Thank you for not disagreeing.”

“My brother had just died and you disappeared. I never saw you. I needed you.”

“I know.”

“Do you realised just how much his death destroyed me? I blamed myself for a very, very long time.”

“I know. Like I said, I know I was a bastard. I just, I just didn’t know how to react. How to comfort you. I felt lost.”

“You just needed to be there. To…”

“I know now. I realise now. I have no excuse and I have no right to be forgiven but you do have the right to an apology and explanation.”

Sally sat and listened to Nick’s excuses, how his relationship with Tara had begun and in the end she actually ended up feeling sorry for him.

“I’m so glad we’ve had this chance to talk,” said Nick, reaching across the table and placing his hand on her arm.

“This is a change of tone from the other night. What has made you grow up?” Sally asked.

“That was bravado,” he paused and took a deep breath. “I’m going to be a dad. Tara is 5 months pregnant and I realised that I can’t be a child raising a child.”

“Congratulations!” said Sally, and she genuinely meant it. She raised out of her seat and reached across the table, giving him a peck on the cheek. 

“So, how are things with your new bloke? Shirley did you say?”

“You know fine well his name is Sherlock; can’t keep up the pretense for long then?”

“Sorry babes. Sally. Can’t blame me for a little green eyed monster? You looked so happy when I saw you the other night – radiant. I love Tara, I really do – but 6 years, 5 months and 3 days did mean something to me too really.”

Sally looked at him opened eyed.

“Told you – bravado,” said Nick, looking down. Sally held his hand across the table. 

“Well, it’s all worked out for the best though. You are going to be a dad. Boy or girl do you think?” smiled Sally.

“I don’t mind. Perhaps a girl. I like the idea of having a Daddy’s girl. What about you? Think you’ll have children with Sherlock?”

Sally glanced away.

“Oh, sorry, have I spoke out of turn?” said Nick.

Sally caught the eye of a passing waiter. “Can I have a gin and tonic?”

“Certainly madam,” replied the waiter, who walked off.

Sally spent the next hour off-loading the events of recent weeks; the murders at school, the miscarriage, life with Sherlock and his sudden cooling of affections. Nick listened attentively and offered words of comfort. Perhaps Sherlock was just trying to settle into a rhythm he reasoned and, whilst Sally agreed with him, deep down she felt sure her romance was about to end. Soon enough, it came time to leave. 

Nick stood up. “Sally, thank you so much for agreeing to meet.” 

“I has been worth it; I feel better. If life has taught me anything recently, it is far too short to hold grudges.” Sally moved towards Nick and the couple embraced in a warm hug before pulling apart; Nick planting a soft kiss on Sally’s left cheek. They paused briefly before they both moved in for a passionate kiss. Both knew that this was closure.

“I will always love you Sally,” smiled Nick.

“Goodbye Nick, and good luck. Be the good dad I know you can be,” and with that, Sally turned to leave. She held her head high as she walked back through the lobby and kept her composure on the street as the doorman hailed her a taxi but the minute the door shut and the cab had pulled away, she dissolved into hysterical sobs that only ceased as the car pulled into Baker Street.


	29. No Going Back

Sally paid the taxi fair and wiped her eyes with the sleeve of her jacket. She kept her head down as she ran into 221b and rushed towards her flat. She did not want to be accosted by anyone, especially Sherlock.

Whilst the tears had stopped, Sally remained in a deep funk for the rest of the afternoon and even a glass of wine in her dressing gown and a sing-a-long to Take That could cheer her up. Her mind was restless. She was genuinely pleased for Nick but at the same time, her heart ached for the little boy that she had lost. She would have been nigh on half way through her pregnancy. She would’ve felt his first kick by now. 

It was between glasses when she heard the door to 221b slam shut with a bang that made her physically jump. The slam was followed by “Sherlock!” hollered by Mrs. Hudson. Perhaps now wasn’t the best time to approach Sherlock with a relationship conversation but she could not continue to dwell on the matter either.

Sally dressed and walked out of her flat, heading up the stairs to 221b. Unusually, the door was shut. She put her hand to the handle and tried it; to her surprise, it opened. She stepped inside and shouted “Hello!” in as cheery voice as she could manage. 

“Not now,” scowled Sherlock, who was stood by the mantelpiece, his hand on his knife, which was firmly embedded in a document on the shelf. 

“I’m sorry Sherlock, I really need to talk to you,” began Sally.

“I said not now,” said Sherlock, continuing to look away. 

“Could you at least tell me what I have done?” Said Sally, trying her best to remain strong and holding the quiver in her voice at bay.

“What you have done? WHAT you have done?” spat Sherlock, swiveling around and looking at Sally in disgust. “Don’t you mean WHO?”

“What are you going on about Sherlock? Is this about Nick again?” replied Sally, raising her voice and taking a step towards him.

“I saw you. I saw you with him. At the Straza? Hands all over him, fawning and smiling. I saw you kiss him. I am not some stupid mortal who you can deceive. I can read you. I know you. I know you better than you know yourself.” The words left Sherlock as if they were dipped in poison. Sally had never seen him in such a rage.

“How did you see me? You haven’t SEEN me all week! Yesterday you didn’t say a fucking word to me, you completely ignored me, not even goodbye when you went out with your boyfriend. So quick to go off with him and solve his cases –you don’t give a flying fuck about what has happened in my school. The school I am going back to on Monday with a serial killer still on the lose.” 

“Boyfriend? Me, me, me! Do you know how pathetic you sound? I thought I could put up with your idiotic whining,” shouted Sherlock, raising his hands to his head. “And don’t lecture me about ignoring you – you were that engrossed with that…that… man, that you didn’t even see me when I was standing in front of you with a gin and tonic!”

“Oh. My. God! Oh my God! You followed me? You followed me and pretended to be a waiter to spy on me. And you are having a go at me? You are a fucking psychopath! Well, you did a shit job. You’ve lost your touch. I have no feelings for Nick, I am with you; I love you. He’s getting married, got a baby on the way. We kissed, it was nothing - a goodbye. We did touch; ordinary people do do that Sherlock – it is called emotion. Affection? Look it up. Nick and I met because he wanted to apologise; which you are free to do any second.” Sally raged.

Sherlock looked at her and narrowed his eyes. He walked towards her and lowered his head to her face and looked her in the eyes.

“Don’t hold your breath you sniveling, pathetic woman. Get out of my flat. It is over.”


	30. It's Over

Whether it was because she had felt that things weren’t quite right and had therefore foreseen the demise of their relationship only hours earlier or the shock at the sheer venom in Sherlock’s break up, Sally walked back into her own flat feeling numb. Perhaps because she had already cried a river of tears already, Sally sat emotionless on her bed and there she sat without notice of time passing by.

Eventually, there was the faint buzz of her phone. Sally reached down and picked it up from the side of the bed where it had fallen. She looked at the screen and saw Mary’s name. She couldn’t quite face speaking to anyone yet so she put the phone on the bedside table and rolled over onto her side, huddling herself in the fetal position.

How long she lay there for, she wasn’t sure; she may even have fallen asleep. She was only bought back to reality when she realised that Mary and Mrs. Hudson were stood at the bottom of the bed. her emotionless state preventing her from any response to their sudden appearance.

“I am sorry dearie. I know I shouldn’t come in unannounced but we have been so worried. I wasn’t listening honestly, but I couldn’t not help but hear what was being said, your voices were so loud. He was so vile Mary, I was so frightened, I have never heard him like that before. I called Mary and John, Sally. Mary had tried to call but got no answer, so she came over. He really was vile Mary, I was so worried,” said Mrs. Husdon, wringing her hands and turning between Mary and Sally, who began to sit herself up in bed.

“It’s OK Mrs. Hudson, I am sure Sally understands. Why don’t you make us a cup of tea?” replied Mary, removing her coat and sitting on the end of the bed. Mrs. Hudson took note of the suggestion and went about making everyone a drink. 

“Sorry to interfere Sally, Mrs. Hudson was worried,” said Mary, when Mrs. Hudson had left the room. “And to be honest, after what she has said – so I am.”

“Thought I’d be swallowing pills or something?” said Sally, quietly.

“Something like that. Sally - Mrs. Hudson, the things she’s said – they aren’t true?” asked Mary.

“What did she say? That Sherlock accused me of having an affair? Called me pathetic? Annoying? Or that he had followed me? Finished with me? Then, yes.” Hearing it back hit Sally like a train and she finally began to sob.

“There, there lovey. I’ve put four sugars in, nice and sweet,” said Mrs. Hudson, passing a cup of tea to Sally. Sally took the mug, but placed it on the bedside table. She reached across to the tissue box and blew her nose, taking further tissues to wipe her eyes.

“I don’t know why I am crying really. I was expecting it – I had a feeling it would happen. I mean, it was bound to happen eventually wasn’t it? He’d been so vacant with me, more than usual.”

“We thought that perhaps he’d just got involved in the case...” began Mary, but she was interrupted by her phone. She took it out of her pocket and glanced at it, before putting it away.

“It’s OK, answer it. You shouldn’t have to be here with me anyway – I’ll be OK. It’s late, you’ll need to be back with Charlotte,” said Sally.

“It’s alright, Molly has her. She loves babysitting. That was John actually, he’s looking for Sherlock, he was worried about you too but I thought you might not want to see him.” replied Mary.

“Looking for...? Never mind, I don’t care. Honestly, I’m fine. I just need to have a good night’s sleep, I barely slept yesterday so I need to tonight or I’ll be a wreck on Monday.”

“Are you sure?” asked Mary. 

“Absolutely. And Mrs. Hudson is only upstairs. I can come up and see you if I need to, can’t I Mrs. Hudson?” affirmed Sally.

“Yes, of course dear,” replied Mrs. Hudson.

After a few exchanges, Mrs. Hudson and Mary left 221c and Sally resumed her position on the bed, huddled against the world, willing the pain to disappear.


	31. Bart's

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Over the next few chapters there will be some that show sally's actions, followed by what Sherlock was doing at that time or vice versa.

Sherlock sat huddled on the roof of Bart’s, staring into the distance, his back leaning against the cold steel of one of the many air vents that adorned the rooftop. The wind whipped across his face, stinging his cheeks but he remained impassive.

The door to the roof top swung open and footsteps crunched on the gravelled flat roof.

“Is it done?”

“Yes,” replied Sherlock.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to those of you who have left kudos, it has inspired me to keep going.


	32. Last Week

LAST WEEK – Scotland Yard.

“Any developments?” asked Sherlock, removing his scarf as he walked into Lestrade’s office. 

“Close the door and sit down,” said Lestrade, walking to the kettle to make a drink. “Coffee?”

“Not police issue. John will be here in 3 minutes and 20 seconds and he’ll have stopped by a coffee shop on the way.”

“3 minutes and 20 seconds?”

“Allowing for traffic. Charlotte is teething and his sleep is interrupted. Coffee has become his constant companion. John will not have got just himself a drink though, he’ll have one for us too.”

“He is very considerate,” remarked Lestrade.

“He’s also 3 stamps away from a free muffin,” replied Sherlock, deadpan.

True to his word, John arrived exactly as Sherlock had said. They sat down around the desk sipping coffee and poured over the documents strewn about, Sherlock occasionally getting up to inspect a series of surveillance pictures attached to the wall.

“Sally goes back on Monday?” Asked Lestrade.

“Yes, mornings only for this first week,” replied John, opening a small brown paper bag and pulling out a triple chocolate chip muffin out. He looked apologetically at Sherlock and Lestrade, "They only had one left and I was too tired to make myself breakfast this morning.." he continued, before taking a bite. Sherlock smirked knowingly towards Lestrade. 

“We’ve got an officer going in undercover who will work in her class as an assistant,” continued Lestrade, pushing a photograph in Sherlock's direction.

“Good. I do not want her to be in any danger at all and she mustn’t know. If anyone suspects anything that puts her at risk it makes everything we are going to do pointless,” said Sherlock, picking up the photo and turning his nose up at the man on the photo.

“Agreed,” added John, picking up the picture after Sherlock discarded it back onto the table.

“And what does Mr Peter Wilson think?” said Sherlock, the disdain dripping off every word.

“He thinks the case is closed with the discovery of Ormston. Mycroft has kept the CCTV footage off the record and with Sherlock backing off and not investigating, he’s relaxed but not enough to give us any solid evidence linking him to the CEO,” said Lestrade.

“Aren’t the accounts enough?” asked John.

“No, there are discrepancies – particularly around December,” said Lestrade, handing documents over to John, and pointing to various lines on the document, “But there isn’t enough to tie it down and certainly nothing to link him to the deaths. The driver of the car that knocked down Sally hasn’t been found. Mycroft tracked him down as having arrived in the UK three days before hand but he’s left no footprint.”

“We get Sally back into the school, allow things to settle and then we can set everything in motion, the recording devices are already in place,” said Sherlock. “The sooner this is resolved, the safer she will be.”

“She didn’t notice?” asked John.

“I kept her busy, whilst Mycroft team doctored the equipment," smiled Sherlock.

“Oh, don’t. I don’t want to know,” grimaced Lestrade.

“You do realise that her biggest risk is being linked to you Sherlock? If they get any kind of suspicion that she has come back working undercover for you…” began John.

“I am aware of that,” snapped Sherlock, furrowing his brow before leaping quickly from his chair. “I know what must be done.”

“What?” asked Lestrade.

“We need to be unlinked.” 

And with that, Sherlock tied his scarf around his neck, collected his coat from the coat stand and strolled out of the office.


	33. Two days ago

TWO DAYS AGO

“JOHN!” Sherlock shouted up the steps towards 221b before stepping outside the front door and slamming it sharply behind him. He stood on the pavement outside and pulled his coat collar up. The wind was particularly piercing tonight. He looked at his watch impatiently, turning around when he heard the door open and then close again behind him.

“I presume that was part of your plan?” said John, standing beside Sherlock who had begun to hail a taxi.

“Yes,” said Sherlock, opening the door of the cab that had pulled up in front of them and climbing inside; John followed. 

“So where are we going?” Asked John. 

“The Straza,” said Sherlock, leaning forwards and speaking to the driver.

“How did you get him to agree to meet you?” asked John.

“I didn’t. He’s agreed to meet Sally. I text from her phone last night when she was asleep. If I had known there would be this many questions John, I would have insisted upon separate cabs.”

John looked at Sherlock and subtly shook his head. He turned and looked out of the window, Sherlock stared out of his own. Sherlock did not need to talk and began to unpick the plan that he put in motion since returning from Scotland Yard. His mind was occupied with many conflicting emotions – the concern of keeping Sally safe, but the need to resolve the crime that had drawn them together in the first place. The fact that he had certainly developed feelings towards Sally, that he had expressed as love when he was in the heat of the moment, meant that what he was doing was causing something that felt uncomfortable in him but he also was looking forward to returning to a clear mind where his work was not compromised.

The taxi arrived outside The Straza and Sherlock and John walked into the lobby, the door being held open by a kindly looking doorman. Just as he’d arranged, Nick was sat in the bar. Sherlock couldn’t help but raise a small smile when Nick had caught sight of him.

“Where’s Sally?” asked Nick, standing up. “What is going on here?”

“Sit down,” said John, placing one hand on Nick’s shoulder and pushing him down into the seat. “My friend has a job for you.” John reached into Nick's pocket and fished out his phone, tossing it to Sherlock who caught the phone. He quickly typed out a message: 

‘I’m leaving on Sunday. I know I’ve been a complete bastard, but I need to see you Sally. Nick x’

Sherlock ran through the next step in his plan to become ‘unlinked’ with Sally. Nick was to apologise to Sally for his behaviour. He needed to be warm, loving and affectionate. There was to be touching and kissing; he needed to make it look like an illicit meeting without compromising Sally’s morals.

“And what makes you think I’ll do that?” scoffed Nick. Sherlock leant towards him.

“Five minutes on Facebook and I know you are dating three women; two of whom are pregnant, both with your child. One of them is married to your business partner who holds a majority share, one of them owns the flat you are currently living in and you think the other is 18 but her birth certificate puts her a few years younger.” Sherlock momentarily flashed a fake smile before sitting back in his chair, placing his hands in the familiar steeple.

“You’re a fucking psychopath!” said Nick.

“High functioning sociopath. With your internet history," smiled Sherlock.

“What do you want me to tell her?” said Nick, stumbling over his words. Sherlock rose from his seat and looked down at Nick.

“Oh, I am sure you’ll think of something. Dick,” he said, turning and walking away, John following behind.

“Is one of them really underage?” asked John, walking quickly to keep up with Sherlock's quick stride.

“No idea, I may have made that bit up. You don’t really think I’d needed to look at Facebook do you?” Sherlock, continued on, not looking at John. John watched him walk ahead, shook his head and continued with his fast trot to catch up.

“Mind if we stop by Bart’s? Molly has a body for me,” said Sherlock as they got into a cab.

“Er, no. We can do that. Mary wasn’t expecting me back until late considering..” said John looking at his watch.

“Considering what?” asked Sherlock, glaring at John. 

“So, a body then?" said John, changing the subject but Sherlock was back to looking out of the window. He was either absorbed in thought or avoiding discussion with John and that suited John just fine. He wasn’t sure he was going to be able to handle a heart broken Sherlock.

Four hours at the morgue later, John and Molly stood in the observation gallery. Sherlock was taking a whip to the third corpse of the evening, furiously making notes, and taking measurements of the marks that formed.

“I am going to need to go home, it’s 2am,” sighed Molly, yawning.

“I’ll round him up,” replied John. 

“Do you think he’s going to be OK?” asked Molly, looking down on Sherlock with a look of concern.

“You are an amazing woman Molly Hooper, do you know that?” said John, gently squeezing Molly’s shoulders and giving her a light peck on the cheek. 

Reluctantly, and with protestation, Sherlock left the morgue. Neither spoke in the cab on the way home, but John broke the silence as the taxi pulled into Baker Street. 

“You know this is going to hurt, don’t you Sherlock?”

“Temporarily. However, I am sure the hormonal imbalance will be short term once she goes back to her own bed. Work will keep her busy and so I will barely see her. By this time tomorrow, it will all be over.” The taxi arrived outside 221b and Sherlock scooted forward onto the seat, opening the door. He stepped one foot outside.

“Love isn’t a hormonal imbalance Sherlock…” replied John, quickly interrupted by a scoff from Sherlock. “Look, you can lie to yourself all you like Sherlock, but you can’t lie to me. You aren’t the only one capable of making deductions you know.”

Sherlock climbed out of the taxi and shut the door. He paused, listening to it drive away. He took a deep breath, John knew him well. 

He unlocked the front door and stepped into the lobby. He looked down the corridor longingly at 221c. He knew Sally would be inside, she wouldn’t’ve stayed at 221b after the performance he’d put on before he left. He walked slowly up the stairs to his own flat, each step commenting the words John had spoken into his mind. He shut the door behind him and collected John’s Browning from the mantelpiece. He took aim at the wall and fired; the wall the metaphor for his emotions.


	34. Yesterday

YESTERDAY

Sherlock arrived back at 221b in the early evening, allowing Sally time to contemplate her meeting with Nick. He paused outside 221c and listened carefully. Sally was listening to music. He walked carefully up the stairs, a route he had practiced to avoid accusatory comments from Mrs Hudson when she caught him sneaking out of Sally’s in the early hours. It puzzled him that she had appeared totally accepting of a homosexual relationship and the possibility of two unmarried men sharing a bed, but wasn’t able to extend the same virtue towards his relationship with Sally.

He waited 20 minutes in his flat before walking over to the door and slamming it shut with a force to wake the dead.

“Sherlock!” Mrs. Hudson hollered up the stairs. Why she was not used to such a noise by now was beyond him.

He listened carefully and heard the familiar sound to 221c being shut and Sally’s footsteps on the stairs. He could tell she was nervous by her pace, this really wasn’t going to make it easier. He walked to the mantelpiece and gripped the knife that was lodged into some documents upon it. The door to 221b creaked open.

“Hello!” said Sally. Sherlock noted an air of forced cheeriness about her voice. 

“Not now,” Sherlock scowled, his hand gripping the knife handle so tightly that his knuckles turned white.

“Could you at least tell me what I have done?” Said Sally. Sherlock, winced. He couldn’t bare the quiver in her voice. This was going to be harder than he had anticipated. He took a deep breath.

“What you have done? WHAT you have done?” he spat, swivelling around forcing his best look of disgust. “Don’t you mean WHO?”

“What are you going on about Sherlock? Is this about Nick again?” replied Sally. Her voice began to get louder and she took a step towards him. It was working and this encouraged Sherlock to continue.

“I saw you. I saw you with him. Hands all over him, fawning and smiling. I saw you kiss him. I am not some stupid man you can deceive. I can read you. I know you. I know you better than you know yourself.” Sherlock ensured each word fell from his tongue with all the venom he could muster. 

“How did you see me? You haven’t 'seen' me all week! Yesterday you didn’t say a fucking word to me, you completely ignored me, not even a goodbye when you went out with your boyfriend. So quick to go off with him and solve his cases –you don’t give a flying fuck about what has happened in my school. The school I am going back to on Monday with a serial killer still on the lose.”

That very second, all the insecurities over the plan washed over him. He was immersed in the guilt of forcing her back into this situation. Did she really have to return? Surely, he could think of how the case could be solved without her being there? Alternatives flashed before him, each outcome being unfavourable. Lestrade’s assurances of protection weren’t good enough, after all, any protection offered would never be adequate as none of them involved him. He understood and agreed with Mycroft’s suspicions that the crime went deeper that they had initially thought and that at some point, Sally may become useful to the operation but there was he, endangering the life of someone who he had professed to feeling such an alien emotion towards. 

“Boyfriend? Grow up. Me, me, me! Do you know how pathetic you sound? I thought I could put up with your idiotic whining,” shouted Sherlock, raising his hands to his head. “And don’t lecture me about ignoring you – you were that engrossed with that…that… man, that you didn’t even see me when I was standing in front of you with a gin and tonic!”

“Oh my God! Oh my God! You are a fucking psychopath! You followed me? You followed me and pretended to be a waiter to spy on me? And you are having a go at me? Well, you did a shit job. You’ve lost your touch. I have no feelings for Nick. I am with you. I love you. He’s getting married, got a baby on the way. We did touch. Ordinary people do do that Sherlock – it is called emotion. Affection? Look it up. Nick and I met because he wanted to apologise; which you are free to do any second.” Sally continued. Sherlock had never seen her so enraged before.

He looked at her and narrowed his eyes, fearing that if she looked into them, even for a second, she’d read the lie. He walked towards her and lowered his head to her face, forcing every ounce of him to hide the truth and managed to look her in the eyes.

“Don’t hold your breath. Get out of my flat. It is over.”

Sally turned on her heels and ran from the flat, slamming the door behind her. Sherlock collapsed into a heap on the floor, gasping for air; never before had he felt such acute pain. 

He fumbled in his pocket for his phone.

‘Let me know when Mrs Hudson calls Mary. I’ll be on Bart’s.’


	35. Bait

“Is it done?”

“Yes,” replied Sherlock.

“How does it feel, brother dear?”

“Why do you care how it feels, Mycroft?” asked Sherlock, rising to his feet.

“I don’t. Just curious about this little world in which you have dabbled. Was it worth it?”

Sherlock lurched towards his brother and punched him squarely in the face. He was able to land another three punches which reduced Mycroft to a pile on the floor before John, who had arrived not long after Mycroft, pulled him off him.

“Jesus, Sherlock,” said John, squatting down and inspecting Mycroft’s face.

“He started it,” replied Sherlock, bluntly.

“Let us try to remain focused, shall we?” Said Mycroft, returning to his feet, dismissing John with his arm and dabbing his bloodied nose with his handkerchief. “Now your little love affair is over, and Sally is ready to return to work, Wilson will try to discover what she may or may not know. He is under considerable pressure and we believe that Sally's return will be enough to tip him over the edge and if Sherlock’s prediction is true, she’ll get a confession. From this we will discover the origin of the embezzlement and be able to unravel the network it is supporting.”

“I am focused, Mycroft. Focussed on the fact that we’ve sent Sally in as bait," said Sherlock, raising his voice.

“And it would not be the first time you have done such a thing. Remember the engagement, dearest brother?”

“She wasn’t bait, though, just a means to an end. Sally is in definite danger," commented John.

“And we have the listening devices and the men on the ground to go into action as soon as they get the call. As well as Lestrade’s man, we also have the grounds manager, a lunchtime assistant and the new ‘PTA’ will be an active presence in school. There is a tracker in her key fob, phone and laptop bag. She is perfectly safe,” replied Mycroft, calmly.

“It needs to be constant monitoring. It can happen at any time,” said Sherlock.

“We are listening even now, little brother. My God this woman can cry, but it seems your rouse has worked, she was expecting you to finish with her. Doesn’t seem bothered by the fact that you are missing..”

“You can be a right cock, Mycroft,” said John, pulling an ear piece from Mycroft’s ear and walking over to Sherlock who has resumed his position, slumped against the air vent.

“You’ll be able to fix this Sherlock, once it’s over. She’ll understand,” said John, sitting down to join his friends.

“Not this time John. The look in her eyes... Besides, who says I want to fix this? Emotions are a disadvantage and are for the weak,” replied Sherlock, matter-of-factly. 

“You don’t really mean that,” said John.

Sherlock pulled the collar up around his neck and stared blankly out into the night sky.


	36. Back to work

The 5 am alarm was just as painful as Sally had imagined it. She reached an arm out of the covers and pressed snooze. She wasn’t ready to face the working world just yet. She snuggled down beneath the blankets and closed her eyes. Whilst she did not want to return to work, she was looking forward to getting out of the flat. Since Sherlock had finished with her, she had not stepped foot outside of 221c for fear of bumping into him, or Mrs. Hudson for that matter. She did not need fussing over or the reminder that her love life was over with every cup of sweet tea that she bought her.

All too soon the alarm went again. Reluctantly, Sally got out of bed and headed towards the bathroom. The shower did nothing to invigorate her and she left the flat feeling considerably downhearted. The bus arrived on time and Sally sat near the back of the bus and gazed out of the window. She did not know what the day had in store for her work wise, but she was adamant that she’d begin her own investigations into the murders of her colleagues and the attempted murder of Sherlock, although for the latter she was unsure that she wouldn’t just congratulate them and offer condolences for the near miss considering the absolute arrogance of the man. 

“Get out!” said Sally, tapping her forehead. The man sat next to her on the bus stood up and changed seats, glancing back at Sally.

‘You see, even he thinks you are nutty,’ said Sally to herself. ‘You are going to prove him wrong. That’ll be the best revenge you can get, solving the crime he couldn’t.’

The final part of Sally’s journey was on foot. She continued, walking briskly, and began to draw up her battle plans. She had spent enough time around Sherlock to come to the realisation that the common denominator in all of this was Pete. He had spent a considerable amount of time in Tina’s company before she died and in the latter weeks of his life, Dave had been in constant touch with him. Whilst he was the grounds manager, there is only so much conversation a leaky gutter or a new fire door can elicit. The evidence of money passing into both Tina’s and Dave’s account, suggestive of blackmail, would also correspond to the flash new car that Pete had bought himself. She would be meeting with Pete when she arrived for her back to work interview so she would mention ‘her theories’ about Dave in the hope that he would let something slip. Perhaps she could even try a little flirting with him, after all, she was now single so it wouldn't come across as odd. Sally was familiar with the idea of money irregularities within large academy chains and clearly that was what was going on here. Exactly why this meant people died, she was unsure but, after all, even Sherlock hadn’t been able to find any evidence…

“Why does it always have to come back to that prick?” said Sally, again airing her opinions out loud. “And stop fucking talking to yourself!” She continued, quickly looking around to make sure no one had heard her expletive. She’d been too long out of the habit of her teacher manners.

Sally arrived at the gate and let herself in with her key fob. She walked in and said “Hello,” to a gentleman in the front playground who was busily painting one of the window sills. She wondered if he was the new site manager. She walked through the front door and turned down the corridor to into the staff room.

“Sally!” said Gill, stopping mid coffee-make and outstretching her arms, which Sally walked into. Gill hugged her warmly. “It’s so good to see you! You are looking well.”

“Thanks, Gill,” replied Sally.

“How’s William?” asked Gill, who then corrected herself – “Sorry, Sherlock. It’s funny to call him that now, but at least it makes sense looking back on it all now! His assembly about the monarchy; making the children sing ‘God Save the King’! You’d’ve thought he’d know better – being the great Sherlock Holmes. Oh, sorry Sally! Here’s me going on and he’s your boyfriend. I hope he’s better in bed than he is at general knowledge.” Gill chuckled and nudged Sally with her elbow, smiling. Sally’s face fell.

“We aren’t together anymore. Turned out my first thoughts about him were right, he was a complete knob. And no, actually his performance in bed was just about as good as his performance in class – completely inadequate with no outstanding features.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. Tell you what though – your new teaching assistant is pretty hot, lovely bottom! Aw, it’s good to see you back.” Gill gave a gentle squeeze of Sally’s hand and left the staff room, picking up her cup of coffee as she left. 

Sally walked over to her locker and put her phone inside, sighing. This was going to be how the morning went, lots of questions about Sherlock. Perhaps she’d go find Diane, the Year 4 TA; she’d soon pass the gossip round and save Sally the heart ache. Sally walked back to the boiler and made herself a cup of tea and sat down on one of the chairs. Only 4 and a half hours to go.

“Oh, er, hello Sally,” said Pete, walking into the staff room. Gill said you’d arrived. I’ve, er, I’ve got cover for your class for today. I thought we’d have a bit of talking to do. Catching up? Didn’t know how long it would take.”

“Oh right, yes – that’s fine. I might pop my head round the door to say hello to the class, just so they know that I am about,” replied Sally, forcing her best smile. “Anyhow, good to see you, so pleased to be back,” she continued.

“Good. Er, see you in my office at 9?” said Pete.

“Looking forward to it.” Sally flashed a smile, which disappeared the second he disappeared. This was her chance and she wasn't going to mess it up. What was it that Sherlock said? “The game is on,” she whispered as she raised her cup of tea, her lanyard and key fob wrapped round her fingers.


	37. My Girl

“Where is she? She’s normally left by now.” said Sherlock as he moved away from his observation post at the window of 221b, glancing at his watch.

“Sit down Sherlock, this really is going to be a long day if you continue like this,” said Mrs. Hudson, walking in with a tray containing a pot of tea and numerous cups and setting it down on the table besides Sherlock’s usual chair. “Shall I be mother?”

“Oh, yes please, one sugar Mrs. Hudson,” said Lestrade, removing the headphones and walking over towards the tea. “Sherlock, she’s not long got out of the shower. Everyone hits the snooze button every once in a while. Well, those of us who sleep that is.” 

Sherlock glared over at Lestrade and walked towards the listening station. He could not remember the last time he properly slept – long before his week of stony silence with Sally, but now certainly wasn’t the time for it either. Constant monitoring was needed. Even though the real observation post was much nearer to the school, Sherlock’s insistence that he kept track of Sally too meant that a secondary post was set up in 221b. Far enough for Sherlock to be nowhere near the school and therefore remain anonymous, but also close enough to 221c in case anything happened at the flat.

“She’s just left,” said Lestrade, pulling at the net curtains with one hand, whilst his other held tightly to the saucer for his cup of tea. Sherlock continued to listen intently, ignoring the cup of tea that Mrs. Hudson placed by his side and instead picking up the mobile phone to his side and sending a quick text.

‘All clear. SH’

Ten minutes later, John was in the flat, having already been on his way when Sherlock had sent the text. Charlotte had been his alarm call this morning and after giving her her early morning feed, decided it was more prudent to get round to the flat rather than go back to bed. He walked over to the sofa and picked up a set of headphones and joined Sherlock and Lestrade in listening.

“What does she mean? Get out?” asked Lestrade, lifting and ear piece and turning towards Sherlock and John.

“She talks to herself,” said Sherlock.

They continued to listen, Sherlock insisting that he needed to know that she’d made it to school and because a return to work meeting would be arranged for later in the day. If they knew the time, they could return to listening at the relevant point.

“No kidding she talks to herself,” chuckled Lestrade whose smile vaporised after one look from Sherlock. Mrs. Hudson gave a little chuckle as she fussed around the three men, collecting cups, sorting papers and sweeping biscuit crumbs, mainly from around Lestrade’s feet. The listening continued.

“Well, she never complained! In fact, she said…” began Sherlock, in hurried defence. At Sally’s last remark, Lestrade went positively puce from laughter, almost choking on a jammy dodger which elicited a sharp slap on the back from Mrs. Hudson.

“And in what way, shape or form is that pathetic Police Constable ‘hot’? What does his bottom have to do with anything?” Sherlock continued.

“Don’t worry Sherlock, a woman scorned and all that. Dick insults and rebound flings are part of the course I’m afraid,” replied John.

“Shh, Wilson has just walked in,” said Lestrade, who had regained his composure. All three men hushed and listened intently. Lestrade removed his ear phones and adjusted the hair on the top of his head. “Right, we can have a break until 9. Bacon roll anyone?”

John removed his headphones and agreed whole heartedly to the prospect of a bacon roll for breakfast, although he had, he said, been up early enough for it to constitute lunch time for him. 

Sherlock was the last to remove his headphones. He ruffled his curls and smiled. “That’s my girl,” he remarked.


	38. And so it begins

9 am seemed to take an age to come around. On any other work day, Sally would’ve been pleased about this fact but she couldn’t help but be nervous about her back to work interview. The reason for her absence was fair enough and could not be disputed, after all, half the teaching staff saw her bounce off the bonnet of the car. She just wasn’t sure how she could broach the subject of the criminal activity she suspected him of, whilst being able to keep her body parts intact.

The situation resolved itself when she arrived at his office. Pete looked under a considerable amount of stress and was pacing around inside. She paused briefly outside his office and saw him walk back and forth, pausing only when he was alerted to text message. He dived to pick it up quickly and sent a very short message back in response before flinging it back down on his desk. It was at this point he saw Sally and he waved her in.

“Hello, Sally. Err, sit down,” said Pete.

“Is this an OK time?” asked Sally.

“Yes, yes. Sit down,” said Pete, fiddling on his desk for some paperwork. “I just need to fill in this sheet. Some of the questions won’t be relevant – like the reasons for absence; I can fill that in. So, err, do you consider your absence to be because of an accident at work. What will we put there?” he said, giving a nervous giggle.

“Maybe just Dave’s name. Bastard. Sorry, I know you shouldn’t speak ill of the dead, but what he did to Tina...” Sally shook her head. “I always thought he was a bit suss, didn’t you? Poor Tina. I guess it was a bit of luck him ending up dead in the car, stop the need to dirty the name of the Academy. Although, not lucky for him I suppose!” Sally smiled, leaning across the desk and resting her hand on top of Pete’s. “Bet you are relieved it is all over?”

“Oh. Erm, yes. Definitely,” said Pete. 

“I can well imagine the stress you are under,” remarked Sally. “I hope you aren’t working too hard when you get home too?”

“No rest for the wicked,” said Pete.

“You can say that again,” said Sally. “Is there anything else? I’m quite keen to get back into class.”

“No. That’s us done I think. Just, er, just let us know if we can make your return smoother, if there is anything that is causing you difficulties, and we’ll see what we can do.”

“Thanks Pete,” said Sally, rising to her feet. Pete followed and walked towards the door, holding it open for her. He watched her carefully as she walked down the corridor and through the doors into the Upper Key Stage Two block. He walked back to his desk and picked up his phone. He pressed 2 on the touch screen and held the phone to his ear.

“No, I’ve just spoken to her,” he paused and listened to the person at the other end of the phone. “No, I am sure – she even mentioned about Dave.” A further pause to listen. “I don’t think he is in the picture anymore…no, I didn’t ask but one of the staff said…no, I understand that…yes…whatever it takes.”


	39. I need you

Sally walked out of the office and calmly down the corridor, which was remarkable considering how fast her heart was beating. She quickly dived into the resource room and shut the door behind her, deciding to take a minute to calm herself down.

“You are such a bastard Sherlock. I need you," she muttered. 

On the other side of London, in 221b, Sherlock removed his headphones. Without a sound, he stood up and walked across the flat into his bedroom, shutting the door behind him. Neither Watson, Lestrade or Mrs. Hudson said a word, passing glances amongst each other. He would never admit it, but this was eating him up.


	40. It's a date

The morning at school passed uneventfully. Sally decided that she should take a softly-softly approach. After all, she did not want to rock the boat too much. She spent the morning working alongside her new Teaching Assistant. She really did not see what Gill was going on about but he seemed nice enough to talk to, if a little unsure of what he was doing in class. Soon the bell rang for lunch and Sally’s first half day at school was done. She collected her belongings from her locker and headed towards the exit.

“Oh, Sally – can I have a word?” It was Pete, standing in the doorway and blocking her exit. Sally’s heart began to beat faster. What could he want?

“Sure. Everything alright?” replied Sally.

“Er, yes. Do you want to come in – it’s a bit delicate.”

Sally looked up and down the corridor, there was no one about. She walked tentatively into the office, making sure she remained near the door. 

“What’s up?” said Sally.

“I was thinking,” began Pete. “Our meeting this morning was all about work. I haven’t really asked how you are. Gill tells me that you and Sherlock are no longer together?”

“Oh, I see. Yes, we split up. It’s a bit of a long story really.”

“Painful?” asked Pete.

“It was,” Sally paused. “But I’m over it now, all gone. Onwards and upwards.”

“Good. Well. Er. I was wondering if you were doing anything tonight? I just thought it might be nice to go grab something to eat – an informal thing, nothing work related. Can’t go breaking any rules from your phased return.”

Sally thought for a moment, this was completely a move in the right direction. She was sure that if Sherlock was watching her right now, he’d be spurring her on. After all, role play and going undercover was right up his street. 

“That sounds really good,” said Sally, plastering a smile over her face. “Fancy picking me up in that flash car of yours?”

“Absolutely. About 7?”

“That’s great,” smiled Sally. “Where shall we go?”

“Oh, I’ll think of somewhere. Depends where I can book,” replied Pete. “Oh, and, it is probably worth not mentioning it to anyone. Don’t want the staff to think there is anything untoward going on. I know what people used to say about me and Tina. And probably not worth mentioning it to Sherlock – don’t want him getting jealous!”

“I won’t tell a soul!” replied Sally and with that she turned and walked out of the office and out of school, Pete watching her leave.

Pete walked over to his desk and sat down. He removed his phone from his pocket and fiddled with it, tapping it against his desk, putting it down and then picking it back up.

‘It’s done,” he text.


	41. Total Eclipse of the Heart

Sally placed the keys on the coffee table and sunk into the sofa. She’d only been at work for a few hours and she was exhausted. She would have preferred to not go out tonight, but she had a feeling that tonight would be make or break time. She wandered into her bedroom and sat down on the bed, placing her phone beside her. 

Her mind began to race about how the events of the evening might play out, what she would do if things turned nasty. She really needed Sherlock right now. She would have felt so much more comfortable knowing that he was nearby. Perhaps he could don his fake moustache and pretend to be a waiter again, although simply the thought of it reminded her of her last words with Sherlock.

Sally absentmindedly picked up her phone and began to flick through his old text messages. The majority remained as straightforward and formal as he was, though there would be the odd occasion where he would slip up and the odd x would end up on the end of a text message.

She opened the photo album. Sherlock was not keen on having his photograph taken, so the majority of their selfies involved Sally and Sherlock’s hand, or deerstalker, but she treasured the one or two that she had in which he smiled, as well as the one in just his boxers. Sally studied the pictures intently, as she had done every day since the split. She analysed his smile; was it genuine? She couldn’t bring herself to delete them. She lay there for a while, gazing at the pictures, before nodding off to sleep.

Sally awoke with a start. It was late and she needed to get ready. She would have a quick shower before getting dressed. She was only going casual – jeans and a nice top. She realised that she might need to wear flat shoes, in case she needed to make a quick escape.

She began to get undressed and flicked on the first song on her iPod playlist. She walked into the bathroom and shut the door. Five minutes later and the shower was over. Wearing just towel, Sally danced around the bedroom, still singing along to her music – ‘Total Eclipse of the Heart’ had started; Sally loved singing along to the lengthy power ballads of the 80’s. She pulled on her jeans and slipped on her top before slipping the phone into her pocket. She walked back into the bathroom to hang up her towel when suddenly, everything went black.


	42. Dragon slayer

Following Sally’s conversation with Pete, 221b became a flurry of activity. Sherlock, who had remained in his room for the rest of the morning, was informed of the latest development and his mood lifted; even insisting upon calling Mycroft and conversing with his brother himself, although he did not disclose the result of the conversation. 

A plan was quickly formulated. It had already been arranged for Sally’s phone to be tracked, using the phones own software, as part of the protection in place for her return to work. There would be a car outside 221b, ready to follow Pete and Sally to their destination and Mycroft had assured Lestrade that they would be covering the CCTV cameras to ensure they are never out of sight. Sherlock, however, remained uneasy and spent most of the afternoon pacing around the flat, calming only temporarily when Sally returned home.

The pacing continued throughout the early evening. Lestrade and John taking turns to monitor the audio, whilst regular updates were received over the radio from the car waiting out front. Mrs. Hudson busied herself in the kitchen, making dinner, as Sherlock walked to the window and looked out for the 12th time in five minutes.

“Sherlock, sit down. You are making me nervous,” said Lestrade. “You can’t keep this up, nothing may well happen tonight. We could endure weeks of this.”

“It will be tonight, I can feel it," said Sherlock, narrowing his eyes and looking at his watch. “What is she doing?”

“She’s still in the shower, been in there at least ten minutes, singing,” replied John. 

Sherlock tilted his head slightly and furrowed his brow “Are you sure?”

“Yes. Come listen,” said John, offering his earphones.

Sherlock walked towards John and picked up the headphones, placing them to his ear, rather than putting them on fully. He listened carefully.

“What is it Sherlock?” asked Lestrade.

“Shh!” Sherlock hissed.

“Don’t worry Sherlock, she’s just getting ready to go out,” said Mrs. Hudson, walking over to the boys with a selection of finely cut sandwiches.

“Shut up Mrs. Hudson!” shouted Sherlock.

“Sherlock!” shouted Lestrade and John in unison, but Sherlock was not paying attention. He suddenly leapt up, discarding the headphones and racing towards the door which he flung open. He darted down the stairs, jumping the bottom two and turning towards 221c. He stopped dead in front of the door. Scuff marks lined the hall way between 221c and 221a and continuing further into 221a; the lock to both doors being clearly tampered with. Small droplets of blood were evident on the floor. Sherlock gently pushed open Mrs Hudson’s door and, looking through, he could see the back door was ajar. By this point Lestrade and John had arrived, Lestrade furiously communicating with fellow officers. All three walked down the steps into 221c, where the trail of blood droplets continued and led to the bathroom, where a larger pool indicated a serious struggle. The shower was in full flow, steam pouring through the door. Just outside the bathroom, propped up on the counter, was a small ipod, playing audio of Sally’ singing, her key fob by the side.

“So that’s how they did it,” said Lestrade, collecting the ipod. “How did you know something was up?”

“She doesn’t spend that long in the shower. She goes in and gets out. The bath, now that is a different matter. The audio has been looped,” replied Sherlock.

“What?” asked John.

“The audio is playing on a loop. You can hear a change in inflection between the chorus and verse. And who sings the same song on repeat? I can’t believe that this has happened. You were supposed to be listening!” raged Sherlock. 

“You could’ve listened too! I don’t know her personal grooming habits Sherlock. But, oh no, you were too busy wearing a groove in the floor!” retorted John.

“I haven’t got time to listen to this. Sally is in danger, I am going to get her.”

“But how Sherlock? The boys out the front have seen nothing. The phone has been turned off and the other devices are offline, we can't track her,” replied Lestrade.

“They’ve left me an invitation,” replied Sherlock, scanning the room and deducing all the evidence it contained. “It would be rude to not attend.” He returned to 221b to pick up his coat and put on his hat. He walked slowly back down the stairs, raising his collar in preparation for what lay beyond the door. He has made a silent vow to protect Sally; he was on his way to save her.


	43. A familiar foe

Somewhere in the distance, Sally could hear the rumbling of an underground train. She could not tell where she was, her eyes barely adjusting to the dark, cold room in which she was being held – tied to a chair. Her head was pounding and her hair was matted with dried blood which had come from the injury she had sustained back at her flat. A large piece of material was tied across her mouth, at the back of her head. She was gagged. 

Sally shivered. Despite it being near the end of March, the weather had remained cold. She tried to move her hands but they were held fast. She moved a leg; they weren’t tied as tight. She tried to kick forward but her foot made contact with something soft; a body. She tried to look down to see, but couldn’t make anything out.

“Kick a man when he’s down, why don’t you?” came a lilting voice from behind her. “Poor Pete. He got careless.” The voice walked towards Sally and removed the gag from her mouth.

“I...I don’t know. I don’t know what is going.”

The mysterious voice came briefly into view, although his features remained hidden behind the shadows.

“Oh, come now Miss Tavistock. You are a smart enough woman. Didn’t you learn anything from your wonderful Mr. Holmes?” 

“You’ve started without me,” came a further voice in the distance. This voice Sally recognised; Sherlock. He stepped forward and his face became illuminated by the moon pouring through a hole in the roof.

“I got impatient, Sherlock. It took you long enough. I mean. I couldn’t have made it more obvious where I was now, could I?”

“Resorting to hiding in the shadows, it’s all a bit too dramatic – don’t you think?” replied Sherlock. Sally noted the coolness to his voice and wondered if he’d actually realised she was there. Sherlock took a step further.

“Don’t you want to know why, Sherlock? You always want to know why, don’t you?” the voice teased further. “It's the money. Always about the money. It makes the world go round. When big brother died, the money disappeared from the family business and I had to find a way to make some more. It turns out that schools are little money making machines, no one really cares where the cash goes.”

“Big brother?” replied Sherlock, edging closer even still.

“He always took the limelight, but look at me now big bro!” the voice was even more maniacal, the figure outstretched his arms and spun on the spot. Sherlock edged closer to Sally. “Don’t get too close Sherlock. Don’t get too close! You touch her and I repaint this room with her insides. She’s sitting on enough dynamite to blow her into that many pieces you’ll be picking her out of your hair for a week. And don’t think you can use your gun on me – my heart stops, so does hers. I move too far away from her and ‘BOOM!’” 

Sally whimpered and the shadowed figure moved towards her. He began to stroke her head, Sally tilting her head and trying to move away from his touch. Sherlock moved to get a better view of her seating position. True enough there seemed to be some kind of package beneath her and it was certainly possible to link the trigger to a heart rate monitor.

“You’ve got to admit, this is exciting. Being a consulting criminal is far better than announcing the platform arrivals at Weston-Super-Mare and with Jim gone, I can show you who really is the better Moriarty brother. I know how much you like excitement; Jim told me.”

Suddenly, everything slotted into place. There had always been suspicions of a Moriarty sibling but Mycroft’s investigations had revealed that Jim’s Moriarty’s brother, a station master in the west of England, had died 5 years before Sherlock’s rooftop encounter with the eldest of the Moriarty clan.

“Moriarty!” muttered Sherlock. They even sounded alike.

“She is lovely. Sherlock. I can quite see why you like her.” With that he removed a phone from his pocket which Sherlock quickly identified as Sally’s. Moriarty opened the phone and began to thumb through the photographs. Sherlock slipped his hands into his coat pocket.

“Honey, you look hot in boxers!” 

“Not as hot as you,” replied Sherlock, calmly.

Moriarty looked towards Sherlock, his eyes fixed. Small jerks began to consume his body, a small wet patch forming at his crotch. The jerks became stronger and his face contorted in pain before he collapsed, fitting on the floor.

Sally’s eyes opened wide and she began to scream. Sherlock jumped forward and pulled a knife from his pocket, the same knife he used to impale cases to his mantelpiece. He quickly cut through the bonds holding Sally to the chair, scooped her into his arms and ran from the building, managing to reach the doorway before the blast from the dynamite knocked him off his feet and threw Sally to the ground.


	44. An Ambulance again

The air was filled with the sounds of sirens and somewhere overhead a helicopter hovered. Sally sat in the back of an ambulance, wrapped in a red blanket, her head wound being inspected by a paramedic whilst another furiously made notes on a triage form.

Sherlock was stood with Lestrade and John, who had followed on behind Sherlock. A black limousine approached and Mycroft stepped out from the back. 

“So, the brother was alive after all,” said Mycroft.

“It was always clear from the beginning that this went deeper than a little embezzlement. The embezzlement was a way of putting money into the family business that Jim left behind in a bid for his brother to continue his work as a consultant criminal. He wasn’t as good at hiring staff as Jim though, as Pete’s body inside attests,” said Sherlock, sipping from a cup of coffee and nodding towards the remains of the derelict building. 

“And you can thank me later for the little upgrade to the phone,” smirked Mycroft.

“Yes, Sherlock – exactly what did happen in there?” asked John. However, Sherlock’s attention was distracted by the door to Sally’s ambulance closing. 

Sherlock turned and ran towards the ambulance. He muttered “I’m going with her,” before squeezing in through the open half. The paramedic didn’t answer and shut the door behind them. Sherlock sat down on the chair opposite Sally, who was lying, strapped to a stretcher.

“You look better than the last time I saw you in the back of one of these,” said Sherlock, picking up Sally’s hand.

“I should hope so,” said Sally, trying to smile. “Although, at least last time I wasn’t able to feel it.”

At this remark, the paramedic reached over and took Sally’s pulse and checked the blood pressure machine, before offering Sally an increase in painkiller which she accepted. 

“What happened Sherlock? Why do I feel like I missed something?” ask Sally.

Sherlock began to speak but was interrupted by a voice coming through from the front of the ambulance. “ETA 1 minute. Secure for arrival.” At this, the paramedic began placing items onto the stretcher and gathering the information collected. It wasn’t long before the ambulance was out the front of A&E and the doors were being swung open.

Sally was taken into the treatment room, where she had blood and a urine sample taken and was attached to a heart rate monitor. A nurse cleaned the wound on the top of her head and announced that it would need stitches. He explained that they would be carrying out a CT scan in order to check her injuries, particularly considering the trauma received at Christmas. Six stitches later, Sally and Sherlock were alone.

“So, Sherlock. What happened?” asked Sally again.

“We knew that the situation at the school was serious, all the signs pointed towards it being the front of a crime network to rival that of Jim Moriarty. In order to get to the bottom of the situation, we felt it best that if you returned to work but had no link to me, they would feel reassured to continue. The, er, the…the development of feelings between us complicated that matter and I needed to address it, I engineered the break up,” began Sherlock.

“You created the argument so as to break up?” said Sally quietly. 

“If you were connected to me, you would’ve been targeted,” said Sherlock.

“I was targetted!” said Sally, her eyes wide.

“I didn’t want you to be!” said Sherlock.

“But you still sent me back into the school as…what…bait?” asked Sally.

“It was vital we uncovered the network. There was so much more at stake and you were perfectly safe,” he continued, to which Sally raised her eyebrows. “I know, I know. We didn’t expect this to happen. They must’ve known that we were listening to your conversations…”

“You were WHAT?” said Sally.

“Although, I don’t know how. Lestrade is furious – they must have someone in the Yard. We’d placed listening devices into various different items in your household, as well as small electric charges too. Your phone acted like a tazer…” said Sherlock, not acknowledging Sally’s response to the fact that she’d be bugged.

“I could’ve been blown up,” remarked Sally.

“But you weren’t!” said Sherlock, scraping back his chair and standing, placing his hands on his head. He removed them and shook them towards her. “I knew I could get you out. I did get you out! I would never have done anything that would hurt you!” implored Sherlock, sitting beside her again and grasping her hands in his.

“You did though. You broke my heart,” said Sally, removing her hands from his grasp.

“Miss Tavistock?” asked a consultant, walking into the room as he flicked through the pages on a clipboard, followed by a healthcare assistant pushing a wheelchair.

“Yes,” replied Sally. 

“We’d like to send you down for an ultrasound scan, just to check that everything is OK. Your vitals are looking good but we just need to check your spleen. Is now a good time?”

“Absolutely fine, he is just leaving,” said Sally. 

Sherlock looked at Sally imploringly, before hanging his head, resigned to his fate. He stood briefly and began to walk slowly towards the door. 

“I’d rather walk,” remarked Sally, pointing towards the wheelchair as she scooted gingerly towards the end of the hospital bed, her body certainly beginning to feel the battering it had received.

“Sorry, hospital policy,” replied the healthcare assistant.

Sally placed her feet to the ground and used the side of the bed to pull herself around. As she did, she glanced the bed sheets – they were stained with blood. Suddenly a sharp pain filled her abdomen and she moaned in pain, collapsing to the floor.


	45. A flicker of hope

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want to say thanks for the Kudos and comment, it encourages me to keep going! I really appreciate the kind words. Hope you all like the latest chapter.

“Sally!” screamed Sherlock, who had been almost out of the room, as he rushed back towards her. He put his arms around her and helped move her back onto the bed. The consultant looked back at his notes and rushed to the side of the room where he pulled a portable ultrasound machine across.

“Contact gynaecology and tell them I’m sending up a female with suspected spontaneous expulsion,” said the consultant to the health care assistant, who then left the room. The consultant placed a sheet over the lower half of Sally’s body and asked her to lift her top, before placing gel over the lower half of her abdomen. 

“Sherlock!” said Sally, extending her hand, her voice trembling. Sherlock grasped it tightly.

“What is it? What is the matter?” asked Sherlock. The consultant remained silent waving the ultrasound wand over Sally’s abdomen and staring intently at the screen.

“Dr?” asked Sally.

“I cannot say for certain until we get you upstairs. The equipment isn’t very good in the department here and I am not expertly trained. I am not able to find a heartbeat I’m afraid,” replied the consultant.

Sherlock and Sally exchanged glances.

“Judging by your hCG numbers, you are at least 9 weeks pregnant and I should be able to see more than what I am.”

Sally turned to look at Sherlock. “I didn’t know – I swear!”

At that point the healthcare assistant arrived and announced that they would see her immediately. Sherlock helped Sally into the wheelchair and insisted on pushing her to the department himself. The healthcare assistant followed on behind, clutching Sally’s notes. Whilst Sherlock remained silent throughout the trip, Sally sobbed quietly. 

They soon arrived at gynaecology and Sally and Sherlock were shown into a private room. Sally changed into a medical gown and laid down on the bed, Sherlock sitting beside her. Soon an ultrasound technician came in and prepped Sally in very much the same way the consultant had.

“This will just be a little cold I’m afraid,” said the technician, squeezing more gel onto Sally’s abdomen. She turned the screen from view and placed the wand on Sally, pressing firmly and pulling it back and forth in small movements. Every now and then she would look closer at the screen and press buttons.

“Just talking measurements,” said the technician.

“Is…is there a heartbeat?” asked Sally.

The technician paused and took a tissue, wiping the gel from Sally’s abdomen and off the wand. “I need to get a better view, and I think I am going to need to get someone else in to help. I won’t keep you waiting much longer, I know how painful this part is. I need you to go to the toilet and empty your bladder – I think we shall need to do an internal ultrasound.”

Sally nodded and got down from the bed, she walked towards the little toilet cubical in the corner of the room, switched on the light and shut the door. The technician left the room.

“Sherlock, I am so scared. How could this happen again?” said Sally from inside the cubicle. There was no response. “Sherlock?” Again, no response. Sally walked out of the cubicle, expecting to see the room empty, but Sherlock remained inside. He was hunched over in his chair.

“Sherlock?” said Sally. Sherlock raised his head and locked towards her.

“I am so sorry,” he began. 

There was a knock on the door before it opened and the ultrasound technician walked in and introduced her to a more senior colleague who asked Sally to get back on the bed. A small ultrasound wand was inserted, which made Sally wince. Sherlock grasped her hand tighter. The technician pointed to the screen as she manipulated the device in Sally.

“Yes, I see it too,” replied the more senior colleague who turned the screen towards Sherlock and Sally. “OK, can you see this little flicking dot here, that is the heartbeat. You aren’t as far gone as the consultant had thought and that is why he struggled to pick anything up. Going by these measurements, you are about 6 weeks.”

“Oh my God! Sherlock!” Sally cried, as Sherlock lent across and squeezed her shoulders.

“Why the bleeding and pain?” asked Sherlock, turning to the consultant.

“Bleeding isn’t uncommon during early pregnancy, but coupled with the pain, it is a concern. It will be treated as a threatened miscarriage and you’ll be put under consultant care. We shall like to admit you to the ward for observation tonight, to see how you go and we will put you on bed rest for a while, as there really isn’t much more we can do.”

“So, so why did the consultant think I was so far gone? He said my numbers were high?” said Sally.

“Yes, that can happen when you are having twins. And, you are having twins.” the technician moved the wand slightly and there, sure enough, another fetus popped into view, again with a flickering dot for a heartbeat. Sally shrieked, Sherlock went pale.

“I didn’t even know I was pregnant,” said Sally.

The consultant explained that following a miscarriage, the hormone levels in a body can increase, resulting in multiple ovulation. As Sally’s body had not regained a regular cycle after her loss, she had not realised that she had become pregnant again, despite the use of birth control. Sherlock felt dizzy. The consultants words swam around inside his head, as if he were under water.

Sally looked towards Sherlock. Everything had happened so fast, she wasn’t sure that she was able to process the news, let alone him. She worried about how he would react when the news officially sunk in. He remained quiet for the rest of the scan and, although he helped settle her into the ward and promised to return with clothes the following day, he didn’t say much else. Sally chose not to press the issue. After all, she was going to go it alone the last time, she could do it again.


	46. A client comes calling

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought I should point out that I wrote this before the last series of Sherlock was aired on TV. I picked the name of Charlotte for John and Mary's baby as that was what just came to me.
> 
> I believe I am two chapters away from finishing this story, which I will probably manage this weekend / early next week as I am off work for a week. I don't think Sally is going to be able to make it as easy as all that for Sherlock and so I want to explore that just a touch before I say goodbye!

Sherlock arrived back at 221b late in the evening. He had left Sally on the ward and decided to walk home across London. He needed time to think about the new situation in which he found himself but wasn’t sure where to begin. This was new and he didn’t like it. He always knew how to solve problems, to remain logical and to divorce himself of emotion. Equally, he was puzzled as to how Sally could have become pregnant when they had taken precautions. His world was spiralling out of control. There seemed to be only one thing for it and he send of a quick text. Given the lateness of the hour, he didn’t expect a response and so was surprised to walk into the front room of 221b and see John sitting in Sherlock’s chair, hands steepled beneath his chin and Mary sitting in the chair normally reserved for John. The clients chair sat expectantly, waiting for its latest customer.

“Charlotte?” asked Sherlock, removing his scarf.

“In your bedroom, in the travel cot,” replied John, nodding his head towards Sherlock’s bedroom. “Sit down.”

Sherlock removed his coat slowly and deliberately, reluctant to take part in the charade that lay ahead, despite inadvertently instigating it. Sherlock walked slowly towards the chair before sinking into it. He placed his hands on his face, circled his eyes with his fingertips before dragging his hands across his face, raking his fingers through his hair. He sighed.

“Sally is pregnant,” he said.

“Yes. Your text said that,” replied John. “And?”

“And? What do you mean ‘and’? Isn’t that enough? Even for someone with a normal sized brain such as yourself should realise that this is an issue. What do I do?” said Sherlock, exasperated. 

“If all you are going to do is insult me…” began John.

“You actually know what to do Sherlock. You only ever insult people when you know the answer to a problem – it’s like your modus operandi,” interrupted Mary.

“Well, Sherlock?” said John, looking towards his friend. Sherlock rolled his eyes and slumped back into the chair.

“The real problem is why won't you admit you know the answer? Because you don’t like what the answer is – that is your conflict,” continued Mary.

“I enjoy being around Sally. Her presence affects me in ways I have not experienced before. Ending the relationship was far harder than I thought; it was not possible to re-balance my internal chemistry. I thought that being alone would add clarity to my deductions, but I found that my decisions were slower and I made careless mistakes. When she was in danger, I did not feel excited as I have done in the past in similar situations. All of this points towards me reconciling the relationship.”

“Right,” said John, exaggerating the word length. “And the problem with that is?”

“I am Sherlock Holmes. I don’t do relationships. Or feelings. Or caring. I am the freak. The sociopath, remember?” said Sherlock, rising to his feet.

“Sit down,” said John, matter of factly. Sherlock obliged, lowering his head. “What if you aren’t? What if you are Sherlock Holmes who had just never seen the point before? Who has had a new experience that has opened his eyes? You always say that you delete unnecessary information from your mind palace. You update it with new information, new ideas, new lessons learnt. How is this different? Delete the freak.”

Sherlock raised his head and looked towards John and then over to Mary, who was nodding in agreement with John. 

“That sounds…plausible,” said Sherlock, slowly. “Perhaps I can learn how to use these new-found emotions to my tactical advantage. But what about the baby? How can I be a father when I am a child myself?”

“How do you think John did it?” asked Mary. “No one is born a father. He put Charlotte’s nappies on backwards for the first week, used half a bottle of shampoo when he washed her hair and almost left her on the bus. Twice.”

Sherlock looked inquisitively towards John but did not need any deucing powers to release, from the sheepish look on Sherlock’s face, that Mary’s words were true.

"I don't understand how she got pregnant. I used the supply of condoms I had until her birth control pill began to work again," said Sherlock.

"Any condom that you would've had would be well past it's expiry date!" Retorted John. "I'm surprised it didn't disintegrate the second you put it on! Not exactly been the most used item in your shopping list in the past, has it?" He continued, chuckling.

“All you can do is get up each day, face the challenges that each day brings and use your deductive powers to make sure that everyone remains alive at the end of it. It might just be your greatest challenge and what actually makes you remarkable. And, just for the record, I have never once thought of you as a freak,” continued Mary.

Sherlock pondered on this for a moment; Mary’s words seemed to be sinking in. 

“Sherlock. It’s late. Mary and I are going to kip in your room – we aren’t waking Charlotte again,” said John, rising to his feet.

“Mmmm,” replied Sherlock, hands under his chin and deep in thought.

“Night, Sherlock!” shrilled Mary, walking into the bedroom with John following on behind.

“Er, yes. Night Mary,” replied Sherlock absent-mindedly. The bedroom door shut.

“And I suppose twins would just make me twice as remarkable?” replied Sherlock. 

“Twins?” replied Mary and John in unison, appearing at the bedroom door.

Sherlock turned his head towards them and flashed a brilliant smile. Perhaps this was going to be his best adventure yet.


	47. Time to think

Sally rolled over in her hospital bed. The air was stilted on the ward and she was woken frequently by the nurses passing by. The woman in the bed opposite snored worse than Sally had ever heard before and this, coupled with the fact that a hospital bed wasn’t the most comfortable of beds to sleep in, meant that Sally found herself wide awake at 4am thinking deeply about the situation in which she found herself and continued to brood over the matter until she was seen by the consultant during the morning rounds. Sally’s overnight observations looked good he had said and, provided that all looked well on a second scan that he had ordered, Sally could be discharged on orders of moderate bed rest and would be seen again in clinic in a fortnight. 

Sally thought back to the events of the past few months. Sherlock had simply tipped her world upside down; the detective had really grown on her and whilst he could be self-absorbed and denied having any sense of emotion she felt that she had really seen into his true self, or at least she thought she had. He had his moments but those weeks in which they were together felt amazing and, whilst living together had been a challenge, she felt sure that it would turn into something more permanent. However, to toy with her emotions purely to solve a case, which put her in grave danger was something beyond which she had imagine him capable. Even if he had not foreseen what was to happen, even if he wasn’t responsible, her mere association with the man put her life at risk. How on earth could she put her twin’s in that same position? She had lost a baby once and was not prepared to have the same thing happen.

Sally’s though track was soon interrupted by a healthcare assistant coming to collect her for her scan.

“Husband not with you yet?” asked the assistant, casually as she wheeled Sally into the lift to take them to the Early Pregnancy Unit. 

“No. And he’s not my husband. He’s not my anything really,” said Sally.

“Oh, Love. Sorry. I shouldn’t ‘ave said anything. You going to be alright at this scan by yourself? We can’t call anyone for you?” asked the assistant.

“No, thanks. That is kind of you but I’ll be alright. I need to get used to being by myself,” said Sally.

The lift pinged and Sally was wheeled out into the unit and taken to the waiting room. She climbed out for the wheelchair and sat on one of the chairs, absent mindedly picking up a ‘Mother and Baby’ magazine whilst the health care assistant reported Sally’s presence to reception. Sally did not have long to wait before she was wheeled into the scanning room.

“Is your partner not with you?” asked the sonographer. Sally sighed. Is this what she had to look forward to for the next nine months?

“No, he’s away on business,” she replied. Whilst Sally didn’t like lying, she felt that it was just easier than admitting her current situation.

“Oh, I see. That’s a shame. I tell you what, we’ll print out some pictures that you can show him when he gets back. Right, this will be a little cold,” said the sonographer.

Sally laid back on the bed and closed her eyes, perhaps this wasn’t going to be as easy as she thought.


	48. Reality Check

Sherlock walked into the ground floor of the women’s hospital and glanced at his watch. It was 9.59am and visiting was due to begin at 10. He glanced towards the clock above the reception desk and contemplated turning around.

“Hello, can I help?” asked a cherry voice behind him. It was the receptionist who was returning to the desk with an armful of patient records. She walked around Sherlock and stood behind the desk. Sherlock looked blankly at her, not sure what to say. “Are you here to visit someone?” continued the receptionist, looking down the list of patient names on the desk in front of her.

“Er, yes. Sally Tavistock,” replied Sherlock. 

“Are you her partner?" asked the receptionist, to which Sherlock gave a weak nod. "Ward 5,” continued the receptionist. “You can go straight up.”

Sherlock thought for a moment before turning back to the main entrance, walking towards the door and into the little shop that was situated in the foyer. He spent a few minutes looking at the items inside before settling on a large bouquet of yellow roses. He handed over a twenty pound note and set off towards the lift to take him to ward 5. The lift door pinged open and he stepped out. He walked towards the ward reception and checked the board, Sally was in the same bay as last night. He turned to the left and walked down the corridor to where Sally’s bed was. He turned the corner into the room and was surprised to see her bed was empty. He turned to go back but was greeted by Sally, returning from her scan.

“Is everything OK?” asked Sherlock, looking concerned.

“Yes, I have just been for another scan,” said Sally, standing from the wheelchair and getting herself back into bed. The healthcare assistant walked around the bed and began to take Sally’s blood pressure. Sherlock looked concerned.

“This is just routine, don’t worry. They’ve been doing it all night long,” said Sally.

“Why did you need another scan? Is everything OK with the baby?” asked Sherlock.

“Babies. Sherlock. There are two of them. And yes – heart beats are fine. There appears to be a little bit of blood in there still, but the sonographer says that it is perfectly normal and it’ll pass in time. Each baby appears to have its own placenta, which is a good thing, but they’ll confirm that and the due date at my 12-week scan – they think I'll be due around the 30th November but its more accurate to date it at 12 weeks, apparently. Although, the babies might come earlier, being twins,” said Sally. Sherlock nodded and sat down beside Sally.

“These are for you,” said Sherlock, handing out the flowers towards her. 

“My favourite. Thanks,” said Sally.

“I’ll get you a vase,” said the healthcare assistant, packing away the blood pressure machine. “Blood pressure is back to normal,” she continued, before walking off.

“Did you bring my clothes, Sherlock?” asked Sally, looking around for a bag.

“Er, no. I’m sorry, I forgot,” said Sherlock. Sally just sighed and shook her head.

“I’ve been thinking…” began Sherlock.

“So I have,” interrupted Sally. “I’ve come to the decision that, for me, this doesn’t change a thing. I don’t want to trap you into a situation that you don’t want…” she continued.

“Well…” began Sherlock.

“No, let me finish. I need to get this out. I’ve decided I am going to resign my job. I really don’t think I will have any opposition considering what has happened and it is unlikely I’ll even have to go back at all. After all, I’m being signed off on bed rest anyhow. I’ve got someone coming round from the Academy to see me tomorrow – I think I’ll be able to negotiate quite a good deal to get out. Coupled with what money I have left over from Simon, I shall be able to go back to Manchester and get a little flat. I was stupid to think I could escape all that anyway, I should never have left,” said Sally.

“What about 221c?” asked Sherlock quietly. Sally handed him an envelope. 

“Could you please give this to Mrs. Hudson? It’s a letter explaining and giving my notice. She can keep my deposit for the rent and I'll transfer the rest that I might owe her.”

“Sally, I…” said Sherlock, turning the envelope over in his hands.

“It’s OK. I understand. You aren’t the boyfriend type, let alone the daddy type,” said Sally, “Married to your work.”

“But I…” began Sherlock.

“Let’s face it Sherlock – you were more than happy to break my heart. When we split up, I never thought I would recover, but I have. I just can’t put myself through that again. I can’t even rely on you to bring me a spare pair of knickers, let alone support me through this, to protect me. And then there are the babies to think about. Sherlock, you can’t even keep it in your head that there are two of them. It just wouldn’t work.”

Sherlock said nothing but stared blankly ahead. He nodded his head slowly, resigned to Sally’s words. He stood up and looked towards his feet, tears prickling his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” said Sherlock, who quickly turned and walked out of the ward.

Sally sat back in her hospital bed and broke down into great heaving sobs. She knew that this would be for the best, but she had thought that Sherlock might have at least put up a little bit of a fight. She reached for a tissue and wiped her eyes before taking a sip of water. Sally reached for her phone and typed in Norwood Academy Trust. She scrolled through several pages before coming across the number she was looking for. 

“Hello, is this the HR department for Norwood Academy? This is Sally Tavistock,” said Sally, sniffing. “I would like to set up a meeting about my current employment situation.”


	49. Some advice

Sally sat in the living room of 221c, surrounded by boxes. It seemed like only yesterday that she was surrounded by boxes that needed to be unpacked and to begin what was supposed to be an exciting new chapter ahead. Not that having twins wouldn’t also be an exciting adventure, Sally reasoned, it was just not the way that she had envisioned starting a family.

Sally had managed to negotiate quite a good settlement from the Academy. In light of everything that had happened, Sally had been released from her contract and offered full pay for the rest of the academic year, with a large enough settlement to compensate for the fact that she would not be eligible for maternity pay if she took another job. It wasn’t a huge amount, but enough – coupled with the remnants of her inheritance - for her to be able to afford to have a good amount of time off with the babies and take her time in choosing another place to work.

Sally had been home from hospital for almost a week and, with the help of Gill and Keeley from work, she had managed to follow doctors’ orders and get most of the packing completed whilst on bedrest. During the week, Mrs. Hudson had fussed around her a little but had generally stayed out of the way, particularly when Sally had closed the subject of Sherlock and of leaving 221c. 

Sally was brought back to reality by the buzzer of 221c, signalling a visitor. Sally wasn’t expecting anyone and so cautiously moved towards the intercom. 

“Hello?” Asked Sally.

“Hi, it’s Mary,” came the voice over the intercom. Sally closed her eyes and let out a long sigh. This was the last thing that she needed. Nevertheless, she buzzed the intercom and allowed Mary into the flat. She walked towards the kitchen and flicked the kettle on as Mary made her way down the steps. 

“Should you be out of bed?” asked Mary, taking off her coat and hanging it up at the bottom of the stairs. “How are you doing?” she continued, walking across to Sally and kissing her on the cheek.

“I’ve just put the kettle on. I’m not too bad. Doctor says I’m OK to start pottering about now, just no long hikes – not that I was the most energetic of people anyhow. Get a taxi rather than use the tube, sit down rather than stand for long periods, that kind of thing. To be honest, it’ll be good to get out and about as I am getting a bit of cabin fever.” Said Sally. 

Mary walked towards the kitchen and began to gather cups in order to make a cup of tea. “And how are the twins?” asked Mary.

“Good, as far as I know. I’m so nervous Mary, worried that something will go wrong. I can’t wait until I am a bit further along and can feel them moving about, it might reassure me a little,” said Sally.

“You won’t be saying that when they are tap dancing on your bladder,” smiled Mary, bringing in two cups of steaming tea and passing a cup to Sally.

“Ta,” replied Sally, taking the cup. “Yes, I guess so. I can’t imagine what it is going to be like. I keep picturing it being like Sigourney Weaver in Aliens,” she chuckled, taking a sip.

“It’s when you are still getting phantom kicks after they are born,” said Mary, sipping from her own cup. “Has, er, Sherlock been to see you?” enquired Mary.

“Other than at the hospital?” asked Sally. “No. I presume he has told you what is going on, seeing as you haven’t asked about the boxes.”

“He may have mentioned something to John, yes,” said Mary.

“I guessed so, what has he said?”

“Not much, just that it was over between you and that you were moving back to Manchester. He then refused to talk further about it and has stopped texting John, won’t answer his calls. Lestrade says he’s solve 12 cases in the last 4 days, so he’s probably not sleeping,” said Mary.

“Look, if you are here to give me a guilt trip, you can just leave it there. This isn’t how I would want things either you know,” said Sally.

“I know, but he seemed so keen when he came back from the hospital after finding out he was going to be a dad. He was particularly cut up about the miscarriage and seemed to really respond to the idea of being a dad after we’d talked him through it,” said Mary.

“Did he?” asked Sally. “But, after you’d talked him into it? You see, that isn’t OK to me. He shouldn’t need persuading into anything. It is bad enough that this has happened without us planning it – he’d feel forced into the situation as it is, without being talked into it. I couldn’t live with the fact that he’d resent me and then probably the children.”

“Sometimes, I wonder if you knew Sherlock at all,” said Mary. 

“I don’t think I did. A relationship needs to be based on more than just great sex,” said Sally. “Look, I know that he is your friend and that you are going to be rooting for him but I can’t help feeling the way I do and I can’t form a relationship on the basis of feeling like I’d trapped him into it. Can we change the subject?” Sally stood up and put her cup on the coffee table. 

“Ok, but I will say this; Sherlock isn’t as new to feelings and emotions as you might think. He has shown, through his friendship with John, that he is more than capable of showing true love and devotion. He doesn’t put his guard down for those who he doesn’t think are deserved of it and since meeting you he has changed in more ways than you can imagine. Life isn’t a fairy-tale and Sherlock is a realist. He won’t guarantee you a happily ever after but he will walk to the ends of the Earth trying.” Mary looked at her watch. “Look, I have to go as I’ve got to get back to John and Charlotte. I’m sorry to have interfered, but I just want you to think carefully about what you are doing. When do you leave for Manchester?”

“Tomorrow night, I’ve got a goodbye assembly thing happening at school. I’ve got an old Uni friend driving down to take me back to Manchester,” said Sally “And I understand what you are saying. I don’t think I am brave enough to take that risk.”

“Think about why you came to London in the first place,” said Mary, giving Sally a big hug. “Simon’s death left you searching for a fresh start. Perhaps the biggest lesson to learn from his death is that life is short and you should grasp every shot of happiness, no matter how risky that might feel.” With that, Mary left 221c.

Sally could barely sleep that night. She carefully considered everything that Mary had said but then thought back to her conversation with Sherlock at the hospital. There were no protestations, just acceptance of what she had said. Perhaps he had been pleased of being allowed an escape route. Above her, in 221b, Sherlock could not sleep either. He took out his phone.

‘Baker Street. Come at once if convenient. SH’

‘If inconvenient, come anyway.’

The phone rang.

“I’m not coming to Baker Street Sherlock. What do you want?” It was John.

“Do you think I am doing the right thing?” Sherlock asked.

“You never care what other people think, Sherlock. Why does it matter now? Look – she is leaving tomorrow after some assembly thing or another at her school so whatever you decide, you haven’t got long. Just think about this. Firstly, you are never one to be told what to do, you always do whatever you please. Secondly, it is 3am in the morning and is the 5th day of you not being able to sleep – any problem keeping you awake for this length of time means that the current solution is not the right one. Whatever you decide, decide quickly and make it genuine,” said John, sleepily before hanging up the phone. 

Sherlock put the phone down and walked towards the bathroom. He allowed his dressing down to slip to the bathroom floor and removed his boxers. He climbed into the shower and allowed a stream of hot water to fall over his bare body. He knew what he had to do.


	50. The End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I have reached the end of this novel. I can't believe I have got to the end. What started off as a random idea has blossomed into a story to which I am quite proud. I have never claimed to be an expert at this and the story has always been a source of stress release for me. If that means that I have caused some enjoyment for others then that will be a good side bonus. I would like to thank everyone for their kind comments and the Kudos received. I never expected any and so what I have had has been lovely - thank you.
> 
> I now plan on going back through and giving the story a little polish. Adding bits here and there, whilst I develop the idea I have for a sequel, I know the gender and names of the babies and cannot wait to explore Sherlock experiencing fatherhood. I do want to make any follow up story purposeful though, so I am not sure when I will start. Anyhow - enjoy the final chapter - I hope it ends in a way that you'd hope.
> 
> Kitty x

Sally’s phoned beeped into life. She picked it up and glanced at the screen.

‘Your taxi is here’

Sally picked up her handbag and climbed the stairs to leave 221c. She was not looking forward to today. She had had an awful time at Park Hills but she had made some good friends. She was pleased to be leaving the school behind her but was already feeling emotional at the prospect of the day that lay ahead.

Sally sat in the back of the taxi and peered out of the window, wiping a small hole in the condensation, just as she had on the first day in London. Nothing seemed to change, everything had turned full circle. A small tear rolled down her cheek, which she brushed away with her hand. She bit lightly on her lip before taking a deep breath.

Soon the taxi pulled up outside of the school. She paid the driver, along with a generous tip and stood for a minute outside the building, looking up and down. With a further deep breath, Sally walked towards the main entrance and pressed the intercom, which buzzed and she was welcomed into the building by the deputy head. 

“Sally, it is good to see you. How are you feeling?” she asked.

“I’m good, thank you. I just need to get through today.”

“I can understand that. Come into the staff room and have a cuppa. The assembly is planned for 10 o’clock,” said the deputy.

“Thanks. I hope there isn’t going to be too much fuss made. I’m hoping just to sit at the back, say a simple goodbye and leave. I don’t think I could face anymore. I don’t want to cry in front of all the children,” said Sally, following the deputy into the staff room, which was empty.

“Oh no, nothing too big. We kind of thought you’d feel that way. Sit down and take it easy, I’ll make you a drink.”

Sally sat in the staff room and listened to the noise of the hustle and bustle of a busy school She was sure that she was making the right decision, but why did everything hurt so much? She sipped her tea but soon it was time for her to go into the hall, where, as she had requested, she was allowed to sit at the back of the hall although her presence had not gone unnoticed but the children who would occasionally turn and look in her direction, whispering.

“Good morning everybody,” said the Deputy head, standing in front of the children in the assembly hall.

“Good morning everybody,” the children chanted back, like a well-oiled machine.

“As you will all know, as it mentioned on the newsletter last week, that Miss Tavistock will be leaving Park Hills School to move back to her home town of Manchester. During her time at Park Hills, Miss Tavistock was a committed, hardworking member of staff who strove to bring enjoyable lessons and a warm and caring nature to her class. Her kindness and devotion…” began the deputy head but stopped as an unfamiliar sound filled the air. At the back of the room, Sally tilted her head. She recognised the sound, but it couldn’t be. Surely?

The door of the hall opened although by whom, Sally couldn’t tell. The sound continued but was soon joined by its source – walking into the hall, playing the violin, was Sherlock. Sally listened carefully, the song seemed vaguely familiar. It was that same tune she'd heard in the early hours of the warm August evening, what seemed like an age ago. The children gawped at the sight of Mr Watson, as they knew him, making his way through the hall and parted as he made his way through the sea of children, creating a path between him and Sally. Sherlock reached Sally and stopped playing, passing the violin to a child sat at his feet.

“Sally. Since I have met you, I have struggled with my feelings for you...” began Sherlock.

“Sherlock!” said Sally, though her teeth. 

“...but, the worst of those feelings are those that I feel with the possibility of you leaving.” continued Sherlock.

“Sherlock, this isn’t you,” said Sally.

“Sally, there is no me anymore. Not without you. Please don’t leave. I thought solving crime was the hit I needed to feel alive, but meeting you and I know now that that wasn’t living, it was surviving. Being with you awakened emotions in me that I never knew possible. Solving crime is a passion, but so are you. I want to spend the rest of my life proving that to you.” 

Sherlock got down onto one knee and the whole hall erupted into cheers, claps and screams. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small box, which he opened. Sally caught sight of a small gleam coming from a beautiful white gold solitaire diamond ring, she raised her hand to her mouth.

“Sally Tavistock. I love you. Will you be my wife?” asked Sherlock, his eyes looking longingly, pleadingly at Sally. She looked back into his eyes, searching for something. She wasn't sure what. She paused.

“Yes!” replied Sally, holding out her hand, so Sherlock could slip the ring on her finger. Sherlock got to his feet, as did Sally, and they collapsed together into a passionate embrace as the gathered audience erupted into a round of applause and copious cheers once more.

Sherlock grasped Sally's hand and guided her back through the sea of children. The staff in the room exchanged glances and smiled.

Outside the hall, Sherlock pulled Sally into an embrace.

“I love you Sally,” he said.

“I love you Sherlock,” Sally replied.

With that, Sherlock grasped Sally’s hand, entwining his fingers with her before leading her from the building. This was the perfect start to their new life together.


End file.
